


Marukaite Chikyuu

by sparkeythehamster



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Growing Up, History, Immortality, M/M, Non-Canon Lore, Slow Burn, Timeline, with plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-06-11 09:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 77,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15312495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkeythehamster/pseuds/sparkeythehamster
Summary: The life of a Nation is a long one, leaving a trail of blood in their wake. Unlike the rest of their people that are able to move on as new generations are born, those immortal watchers left behind never forget.But as stained and tainted as they are, they persevere and move forwards, leaving their mark that will be seen throughout history.Beginning at the recorded dawn of Western History, 1250 BC, The Fall of Troy.- A Rewrite of a Story originally posted to Fanfiction.net





	1. The Fall of Troy

**Author's Note:**

> As the last story began with an author’s note, I felt that this one should as well, as this story is a rewrite of my Fanfiction ‘Marukaite Chikyuu’, written in 2011, and removed from Fanfiction a few years ago.
> 
> I removed the story because I was unhappy with some of the themes and the writing style, and so I hope that this version will come as a welcome update to many who enjoyed the original and have requested its return.
> 
> As in the case of the last story, a translator has been used for the sections where languages other than English are used. Due to this, if someone spots a mistake, please do feel free to let me know so that I can correct it.
> 
> This story does begin with a focus on Greece and Turkey, as the oldest nations, but will move on to include the others as time goes on.
> 
> Like with the last story, FrUk is the dominant pairing in the story, however, there are several others as listed below, including the age rating associated with them.
> 
> FrUk – T  
> UsCan – T  
> SpaMano – T  
> PruHun – T  
> GerIta – T  
> PoLiet – T  
> GreeceTurkey – K+  
> SuFin – K+

**1250 BC – The Fall of Troy**

The cry was a noise like no one had heard before. The storm outside whipping up a gale, that threw the desert sand high into the air, mixing with the cold hard bite of the rain. These two juxtaposing forces fighting for dominance against the scream that rented the sky across hundreds of miles between the Aegean Coast and Black Sea.

The sound grew louder, and with each change of pitch the storm seemed to shudder.

Lying on their back at the very centre of this storm was a baby, sprawled out across the hard and dusty ground, flailing his tiny fists in an effort to rub the sand from his bright green eyes.

He screamed, turning red in the face with the effort, but all he got in reply was another mouthful of sand. The endeavour seemed pointless, as while people across the land could hear his cries, the origin of this sound remained a mystery to them.

However, only a few miles from where this baby lay was a city. A city surrounded with walls so high and thick that they could be described as completely impenetrable. The battlements that ran along these walls were patrolled constantly by armed guards, all alert to the open space of the dusty barren land that lay before them.

The people of Troy were not deaf to the sound of crying that persisted through the night, keeping a great many awake.

Deep in the palace, at the very heart of the city, a beautiful woman was sitting awake on her bed, graceful hands clasped over her ears while her gentle hazel eyes searched for the source of the crying. It was so loud and persistent, she couldn’t help but convince herself that the child must be somewhere in this room, how else would she be able to hear it? And yet, she had searched for the child to no avail.

The longer she listened to the crying, the more the woman became convinced that it was not just one child she could hear but two. Two separate children, each one crying out to the storm outside, desperate for something, something she didn’t know how to provide.

Like the thunder of a tempest, the crying raged on into the night. Then, at midnight, as if it had been timed, the crying stopped, and silence descended once more.

Was the child okay?

“Lady Helen,” the door to her room opened, following a swift knock, to reveal one of her guards, “The Prince wishes to know if there is anything you need to help you sleep?”

Helen turned, her dark hair flowing with her movement as she glared at the man. “I will accept nothing from the man who has imprisoned me here” she declared firmly, folding her arms. “King Menelaus will come for me, and when he does, he will burn this city to the ground.”

The guard frowned, but said nothing else, closing the door behind him as he returned once more to the hall.

Helen heard the sound of a key in the lock as she was once more detained to her lavish and beautiful cell. She had been debating simply throwing herself from the balcony, the gesture seemed rather poetic, but would be pointless if her husband did indeed manage to breach the walls of the city.

Now that the crying had stopped though, Helen felt a strange state of exhaustion beginning to settle over her. It was quite late after all, and it made sense that her limbs should feel heavy and her eyelids weighed down.

Moving over to the bed, she allowed herself to stretch out along the sheets. She knew that it was a good idea to remain alert and vigilant, in case Paris came to her door himself, but perhaps a few moments of sleep wouldn’t hurt.

Across the city of Troy, many other people were thinking the same. It was as if a spell had settled its hold over them, a gentle and caressing touch, lulling the citizens of this city into a deep blissful sleep. That was, all but the league of Spartan Soldiers crouching within the wooden horse at the very centre of the city.

The men looked to their commander, eager for orders. This war had been long and hard on them, but at last they were within the walls. Come morning Troy would be theirs, and Helen would be a on a ship back to Sparta.

The tension within the wooden disguise burned like ice, sharp and diligent, all eyes turned to one man. A man with his arm raised, his own attention captivated by the small hole they had pierced into the horse’s eyes, allowing a partial view of the streets below.

Patience. The men continued to wait, hearts beating in unison, perfectly still and silent.

The arm dropped.

First there was order, as the men piled out of the horse, the instructions they’d been given clear in their heads. However, that soon turned to chaos, and the houses were pillaged and raided.

Amongst the fresh screams that roused the city, one burned louder than the rest. A cry so relenting it didn’t even appear to stop for breath.

The Spartan soldiers continued their rampage, burning the world behind them until all that lay before them was fire and smoke.

“What’s this?” A group of the men stopped. They were passing through a small back alley that seemed to lead in the rough direction of the Palace.

The others stopped to look down in the direction the one who had spoken was pointing. His finger was extended out towards the gutter, where it fell upon a screaming baby. The child was naked, with a dark head of hair and dark brown eyes set against his dark olive skin. A typical looking child as far as any of the men could see.

Usually one might be confused as to what a child as young as this one was doing abandoned in the street of a back alley, but in times of war, you questioned very little, and didn’t think particularly hard about anything.

The child’s fists were balled up against their face, expression contorted as if they were undergoing some particularly painful brand of torture, being exposed to an unrelenting and unyielding pain.

One of the men raised their sword over the child, and while the others turned to him in surprise, each understood the reasoning. It was better to put the thing out of its misery now; the death would be quick and then they would move on to carry out the rest of their orders.

The blade came down, making contact with the child’s chest. It sunk down through the flesh, making swift progress down towards the heart.

But, before it could reach its target the end of the blade stopped, as if some invisible force was preventing it from going any further.

Blood oozed around the steel, and the baby cried on, eyes wide with fear and panic. But however much the soldier tried, the sword would go no further.

“By the gods!” One of the others exclaimed angrily, shoving the man who had tried to slay the child, “It’s a baby, just kill it! There’s no need for that!” He drew his own sword and came down hard, striking almost the exact same point that the first man had, but, like the one before him, he found that the sword simply stopped beyond a certain point.

“It’s…”

“Some sort of magic” the first claimed fearfully, “A spell sent by the gods…”

Pulling his sword back instantly, the whole group exchanged glances, backing away quickly. A message from the gods? None of them were Seers or Priests, they could not interoperate what it meant, but they did know that it would be foolish to touch this child again.

Muttering their devout apologies, the men took another step back, begging for forgiveness. They had wasted too much time here, the child was inconsequential as anything other than a divine message, they needed to get on with the task at hand.

The battle went on, but the Spartans held the advantage, and soon the streets were lined with Trojan bodies, men, women and children alike. The higher the mountains of flesh were piled, the more intensive the cries of the baby became. But no one had the time to worry about one upset child amidst the call of war.

King Menelaus stormed the Palace personally, his sword moving like an extension of his arm as it cut through all those who stood in his way. He was here to slay his wife, the woman who had been no doubt consumed by the lust of Paris. She was no longer his, but tainted property, in order to put an end to this war, put an end to the years of fighting that beautiful face had wrought he had to destroy it.

Reaching the door of the most heavily guarded cell, Menelaus threw it open.

Helen jumped as her husband entered, turned away from him. She could read his intentions, she didn’t have to make eye contact to know that Menelaus was intending to kill her. It was a simple fantasy to imagine that he’d come here to save her, she was dead to him the moment Paris had laid a hand on her.

Behind Menelaus, the door opened again, and this time the room was flooded by Paris and a dozen of his men.

With a grace intended by the gods, the King spun his sword towards the Trojan Prince, cutting him down in an instant. The battle had been won, his own men were already here, bringing down Paris’ own guard.

Now, with the deed done, all eyes turned to Helen who still remained with her back turned towards them, her mind working at a rapid pace as she felt the footfall of her husband closing in behind her.

Lip clenched between her teeth she turned, and, as men had always done before her, Menelaus froze.

“My love” she gasped, reached up to wrap her arms tightly around his neck. If she was to keep her life, this was the man she had to persuade to allow her to breath on. Allowing her hands to drop over his shoulders, she pressed the swell of her bosom against his chest, curving her thighs towards him. It was demeaning, and the mere act disgusted her, as she had to perform it before all these leering soldiers. But her life was more important than her dignity.

The sword in her husband’s hand shook, and then dropped to the floor, as he took her in his arms. She was still alive, Menelaus had missed his chance.

The soldiers of Sparta left the ruins of Troy, their king and queen in toe.

“The crying has stopped” Helen commented, her eyes turned discretely towards the piles of bodies stacked high against the burning remains of the city. “The baby that was crying out, you must have heard it?”

"That was no child," one of the soldiers bowed low before her as he readied her horse. “It was a message from the gods, perhaps one that told us Troy was destined to fall.” A group of other men around him nodded, all looking rather pale.

However, the child was not dead, his sobs had merely quietened to a whimper. Troy may have fallen, but there was still a sea of land around him that was steady and prosperous. The pain of losing the city was strong, but not impossible to overcome.

The storm had settled, now only a light wind washed the sands around the feet of the marching Spartans, returning home from the long war.

“What’s that buried in the sand?” Helen brought her horse to a halt, pointing towards a small rise below the hooves of her steed.

For a few moments she thought her husband was going to ignore her and ride on. But, thankfully he seemed to take note, stopping his own horse and dismounting so he could peer closer at what had captured his wife’s attention.

“I fear it is a dead baby my dear” Menelaus sighed, giving the small creature a poke with the tip of his boot. However, as he made contact the baby stirred, whimpering against the force, before shivering against the sweeping motion of the wind.

Without a moment of hesitation, Helen dismounted her own horse, sweeping the baby into her arms and soothing his brown hair against the back of his head. “Don’t you see” she told her husband, “he is a gift from the gods. See how he has survived here all night in the storm waiting to be found.” She was not sure if this was true, but she knew it was a believable story that Menelaus would listen to.

But what she could feel, what they could all feel, was that something special was emanating from this child, a force that none of them had ever felt before. A few of the men on their feet bowed awkwardly to the child, while others stared on in captivated awe.

Her husband was hardly going to make her leave the child after that, and so the child returned with them, kept warm and safe in Helen’s arms over the long journey that lay between the Cities of Troy and Sparta.

When they finally returned home to the palace, Helen had the slaves wash and clean the child, ensuring that he was both well fed and healthy by the time she took him back into her arms.

The child behaved perfectly throughout all this, then sat peacefully in Helen's arms while she showed him off to the other women who had come to meet their husbands after the long war.

The baby behaved himself perfectly, he didn't drool or cry. The only fault he had if any was that, despite Helen's endless grooming, two hairs on his head always stood up, curling out to either side.

He reminded Helen a little of a woman she’d heard tales about, who supposedly lived in the northern reaches of the Greek kingdoms. It was said that she could survive anything – just like this child they’d found in the storm. And while stories of this woman had existed for centuries, it was always said that her beauty and youth remained intact.

Menelaus suggested that they bring the child north, but Helen would not hear of it. She had found this child, and he had chosen her. She would raise him here herself within the walls of the palace.

“Herakles” she declared, brushing her finger along his smooth cheek, “That is what I have decided to call him.”  


The years passed by, and as luck would have it, a traveller stumbled across a baby buried deep beneath the rubble of Troy. The child lay there unmoving, as he had done since the siege of the city, hazel eyes open, blinking out against the heat of the sun.

The traveller bent down, waving over his wife who had been loading their caravan with the salvageable goods they’d managed to gather. This was her expertise after all, not his.

“By the gods,” the woman crouched down, helping to sweep the dust and crumbling stone from the child’s still body. When the wreckage had been cleared, they gazed down at the small body, they eyes were open, but they did not blink.

Placing a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder, the traveller shook his head, “I believe he may be lost.” Someone must have abandoned him here, another group of travellers perhaps, or thieves who had made off with the baby in the night.

Then, as if the simple words of the traveller and his wife had the ability to breath life afresh, the baby moved, giving a short and stubborn huff, as he banged his small fists against the ground.

“No look.” His wife reached forward, lifting the baby into her arms, “He’s still alive.”

The tiny child blinked up at them. Despite the dirt that covered his face, he seemed to all the word to be perfectly healthy, a full face and bright inquisitive eyes.

“What have you found?” Their three daughters had returned from their own scavenging, and now rushed over to their parents to see what it was that had consumed so much of their attention.

“A baby!” The youngest declared. Adrianna, being only three-years-old herself, reached out a hand towards the baby to pat his dark-haired head. “Where did he come from?”

That was a question neither the traveller or his wife were able to answer, and they were not alone.

There were rumours spreading across the world of these strange children found on the road, or beneath to ruins of old temples and structures.

Several things distinguished these children from the ordinary ones, the first being that they did not appear to age alongside their caretakers. Once they’d progressed past defenceless infanthood, the whole aging process appeared to stop, leaving them frozen as young children between the ages of three or seven. The second feature was the strengths these children seemed to possess, being impenetrable to most injuries and immune from death. To all intents and purposes, they were smarter, faster and more physically able than most adults would be.

It was a topic discussed amongst governments, they were rumours many scoffed at as merely myths or hearsay, but there were many who swore that they’d come in contact with these children and seen them with their own eyes.

Were they demi-gods or some form of new deity? The priests prayed to the gods for answers, left offerings they hoped would incise them to reply, but the skies remained still, and the origin and truth of these children remained a mystery.


	2. The Rise of a Nation

“Herakles, could you pass me my needle.” Helen extended out her hand to the small boy sitting at her side, smiling gently as he obeyed, placing the weaving needle in her hands carefully before taking up his perch by her feet again.

The woman was still by far one of the most beautiful across the Greek Nations, but cracks had begun to appear in her once perfect portrait. Her dark hair was now streaked with silver, and the lines in her face tensed just a little too much when she smiled.

It had been a decade since she’d found this boy on the dusty road that led back to Sparta, but she still wouldn’t have described him as being anything older than three-years-old. He was a fairly silent boy as well, speaking only when it was absolutely necessary for him to do so.

This boy was her companion and company, and Helen went nowhere without him.

His life at the Palace was perfect, Helen saw to it that he was cared for and fed only the finest of foods, she had also assigned three slaves to personally take care of his wellbeing.

To Helen this was how she intended life to go on for her and Herakles.

“My Queen,” a slave appeared in the entranceway to her quarters, bowing low as she delivered her message, “There is a woman here to see you… She, she called herself Greece.”

Greece? That was a term Helen had occasionally heard the Greek kingdoms being referred to as when you were trying to explain something quickly about the joint area, but she’d never thought of it as being a person’s name before.

However, for a slave to bring this to her notice, she must be fairly important, so Helen nodded and waved her hand. “Very well, show her in.”

Folding her weaving needle into the cross-work she’d begun, Helen rose to her feet, lifting Herakles to his own.

“We must be prepared to meet our guests” she reminded him, taking the child by the hand as she led him over to her chaise longue, beside which was a neat and beautifully embroidered stool where Herakles would sit.

“The Lady Greece my Queen,” the slave appeared once more in the doorway, announcing the arrival of their guest who swept into view behind her.

Helen froze, and how could she not, standing before the radiance of this woman. She was tall and dark, with flowing dark brown hair and radiant green eyes, her long hair was neatly ordered behind her head, and fastened with an array of jewels.

For the first time, Helen understood what it was like for men that had stood before her in the days of her youth.

Realising that she’d been staring for far too long, Helen flushed and motioned towards the longue opposite her own. “Please, have a seat Lady Greece,” she motioned from her own seat to the spare one, watching with a strange sense of eagerness, as the woman drifted with all the care and elegance of a breeze to take up the seat offered to her.

“Queen Helen of Sparta” Lady Greece began, “Thank you for granting me an audience.”

“That… Not at all.” Helen wasn’t quite sure what to say, or how to begin, so she allowed herself to be content with her guest leading the conversation.

Greece shifted slightly, her focus now turned to Herakles. “I have heard stories of this boy you found on the road back from the siege of Troy. Is it true that he has aged only a few years since you found him?”

A motherly sense of protection stirred within Helen, and she straightened up a little to establish herself alongside Herakles. “Yes, it is true” she replied, “He was a gift granted to me and my husband by the gods themselves. The Seers informed us that he was a sign of a new beginning that would emerge from the blood of the King’s victory in Troy.”

“The Seers were not wrong” Greece replied, shifting her hair ever so slightly, as she extended herself over the chaise longue.

Helen’s eyes flickered to the curve of two hairs that protruded from the woman’s otherwise perfect hair. She had only seen those on the head of one other person, and he was sitting right beside her in this room.

“You… You’re like him?” Dawning realisation struck her, while at the same time a rising sense of panic began to emerge. She sat up quickly, wrapping her arms around Herakles possessively, “You’ve come to take him away.” Her whole form was tense, and the temptation to call the guards was growing ever stronger. He was hers, and she wasn’t going to let anybody take him away.

“He is my son” Greece explained, “I have been searching for him since I felt his conception, and at last the rumours have brought me here.” She turned her gaze sympathetically to Helen. “I am sorry to do this, but you must allow him to come with me. You have cared for him well, and for that you have my gratitude, but, he will not be able to grow within these walls, and it is important that he be allowed to flourish.”

“No!” Helen understood how childish and spoiled she sounded, as she held onto the boy tightly. But she couldn’t face the idea of giving him up, he was everything in the world to her, the one good thing she had cared for that hadn’t resulted in war or murder.

She could feel Herakles’ confusion, but he didn’t struggle as she held him. His gaze was drifting between that of the woman who had raised him and the one who had claimed to be his mother.

Helen was the woman who had raised him, the one who had loved him, he was not simply about to leave her. But, at the same time Herakles felt some sort of strange tug between him and their visitor. He’d felt it the moment she’d entered the room. There was a connection between them, something he did not share with Helen. It was a timeless bond, that gripped him in a steel-like hold, and he knew from that moment, that the woman holding him would one day wither and die, her story becoming nothing more than a legend to those who told it. But the woman standing before him, she would still be here in hundreds of years to come, she would teach him and help him to grow.

But still, he shook his head, resisting the temptation that was calling to him.

“I don’t want to go” he told Greece firmly, reaching up his hand to grasp Helen’s. “I’m going to stay here with you.”

Helen pressed his hand to her mouth and kissed it, but she could see that Greece did not look at all perturbed by this answer. She remained where she was, her sympathetic expression beginning to frustrate Helen, who only held onto Herakles tighter.

She was a Queen, and she would not be patronised by a woman who simply introduced herself as ‘Lady’, however wealthy and beautiful she was.

“Allow me to explain,” Greece spoke once more, before Helen had the chance. “The coming of this child, indeed the coming of many of the children who have appeared across the world is sign that me, and others like me must take very seriously.” She sat up on the longue chair, for the first time her appearance weathering, making her appear much older than she had first appeared. “It means that our deaths are imminent. We do not know when they will occur, or how, but, these children are destined to take our place. If I die before he is ready, then he will die as well. I must help him to grow and prepare for the day when I will no longer be here to guide him.”

None of this made any sense to Helen, and she wanted to scoff at the woman and have her removed from the Palace, by force if necessary, but there was something about her words that weighed heavy on her mind. It was impossible to explain this strange force Greece seemed to exert, but it was powerful and heavy, and every word she spoke felt like a tremble within the walls of the Palace, or in fact, the very earth on which they stood.

If Helen hadn’t of known better, she would have said the land itself was responding to the woman’s plea.

She opened her mouth to speak once more, unsure of how to formulate the correct response, but Greece had already risen.

“I will not go against his wishes though, if he wants to stay with you then I will allow it. However, upon your death send the child to me, I will leave instructions with one of your slaves.”

Just as easily as she had blown into the room, Greece disappeared from it again, the silk decor of her robes billowing out behind her, leaving Helen and Herakles alone together once more. It was as if nothing had changed, while, at the same time, nothing would ever be the same again.

Suddenly Helen felt the sheer sense of finality about her life. She saw how short it was, and how limited the things she could achieve were. The boy she had cared for and raised, the boy she loved more dearly than life itself, he was not human. She had never cared for the rumours before, but now she did truly begin to consider them, could he truly be a demigod, and was that woman perhaps one of the goddesses in disguise, Aphrodite perhaps, she’d been beautiful enough to be.

But, for now he was her son, and she would continue to raise him as such.

Ten more years passed, and Herakles did not age more than a day. His sweet demeanour remained unchanged, and he kept dutifully to Helen’s side. An immortal child who watched her grow older and weaker, until the day finally came.

It was said that when the gods saw that Helen’s beauty was fading, they took pity on her. They brought her to them, cutting the cord that held her to the mortal world to allow her to serve them on Olympus. But to those left behind, her body grew cold and still, until the breath that passed through her lips came no more.

She was younger than most, leaving her husband Menelaus behind. He mourned for her, mourned for the beautiful queen he had sacrificed so many lives for.

“Your majesty, the boy.”

That was the next question on everyone’s lips. Now that Helen was gone, what was to become of Herakles?

Instructions had been left by a mysterious traveller to send the boy north to Athens when Helen passed away, but the King debated whether he could truly entrust the object of his wife’s devotion to a complete stranger.

It was true that he was not fond of the boy who had taken up so much of his wife’s time and love, but he believed the stories of this boy’s power. Should he truly be giving that up to Athens who may turn the boy against him one day when he had grown to be a man.

He gazed back at the form of his wife. She could have been sleeping, her chalk face was peaceful, and her lips that were already beginning to dull were still beautifully parted, as if she had been about to speak.

“Send the boy to Athens.” He gave the order quickly and firmly, before he could change his mind.

Helen was dead, and he wanted no reminders of her to remain in this Palace. His life would have to go on, and Herakles was nothing more than the child Helen had wasted her time on. If Athens wanted him, then Athens could have him, and should the boy ever turn on him then he would be prepared.

The very next morning, Herakles was bundled into a carriage, packed with many of the other memories of Helen. Her art, possessions and jewels, the King had no need for them, so they might as well go with the boy.

Herakles did not protest as he was led into the carriage, and he did not turn to Menelaus with expectations of a goodbye or a farewell. He understood as well as Helen had, that this day was an inevitable part of their future, of his future, Helen no longer had one.

He was to leave his home and travel north to another city called Athens, where his true mother was waiting to raise him. However, as she had explained to him the day they met, her own life was predestined to end, and he would take her place. There was nothing in this world that would last forever, only him, and one day he would be alone again.

The door to the carriage closed firmly behind him, and with the call of the driver, the horses pulling it set off at a light canter down the delicately paved road of the palace, and out onto the busy street beyond.

Glancing down at his small hands, Herakles considered himself. Surely there was something wrong with him? Helen had always assured him that he was perfect at that he never had any reason to doubt who he was, but now she was gone, those were the thoughts that flooded the young boy’s mind. He wasn’t like ordinary people, and sometimes it had felt like he was simply seeing the world around them in a different way. It was as if he could feel a pulse deep within the earth, he felt it skip with emotion, and he felt it clench with fear.

But this woman… his mother, she would have the answers for him. She would be able to explain the truth.

The carriage rode over a bump, causing Herakles and many of the various objects around him to jump. A box slid off the seat next to him and fell to the ground, bursting open, spilling her old jewels across the carriage floor.

For a moment Herakles just watched them as they spread further and further away with every nudge and tumble of the road, contemplating how far it was possible for them to get on their own before he inevitably bent down and returned them to their home.

Even for inanimate objects like these there was an odd sense of life to them. If they could feel, would the jewels be glad of their new-found freedom away from the box, or would they be running in panic, terrified by this strange and unfamiliar world around them? There was no way to know.

Herakles bent down off his seat when the road straightened and began collecting the jewels once more, placing them back in the box, each in turn.


	3. The Hand on Your Shoulder

“Come on Sadiq give us a hand.” Zehra smiled, passing the boy a bundle of blankets to toss into the back of the family caravan. He’d been caught daydreaming again, caught up in his memories of the city they’d just left, having successfully pedalled a good deal of their wares.

He took the blankets and clambered into the back of the caravan to store them away safely.

“Why did we have to leave?” He asked, calling back as a second pile were thrown in behind him.

“Leave? You mean Ancoz?” Zehra, the woman who had raised him his entire life, stuck her head around the back of the wooden trailer, leaning her elbows on the raised floor, while Sadiq waited for her answer. “Because it was time” she smiled, her eyes twinkling with amusement, as she motioned him towards her, “Besides, we need to go and find more things to sell or we will starve through the winter.”

In all the time they had been caring for Sadiq he had barely aged. Their two oldest daughters were already married and settled, and their third daughter, Adrianna, who was now, eighteen, had only remained behind this long to help out her aging parents. He was considered by most who didn’t know him to be about seven or eight years old, but he would often speak or consider something as if he were far older than that. The family also knew that fifteen years had passed since they’d found him. However, nobody ever mentioned it within the family, and nobody asked Sadiq about it.

“Looks like it will be dust storms ahead on the road” Kutsal called from the front where he’d been tending to the family’s mule, “So be ready with your masks.”

Well that was probably the sign that they were ready to go.

Settling down at the back of the caravan, Sadiq shuffled to the side to make space for Adrianna who swung her way in after him, shooting the boy a grin as she made herself comfortable. Their parents meanwhile settled at the front, so they could see the road ahead and direct the mule correctly.

Adrianna rummaged around in the pockets of her dress, taking out a thick sweep of material that she wrapped around her own face, handing the younger looking boy something similar.

Hopefully the sandstorms wouldn’t be too bad, but if enough got back here then all their provisions would be infested with the hard and gritty taste of sand for the next week.

They were.

How the mule continued to move through these winds, Sadiq didn’t know, but he and Adrianna did what they could to protect the food and the caravan itself. Zehra and Kutsal would be too busy trying to stay focused on the road to drive them out of this storm to do much else, so it was up to them to save what they could.

They were unable to talk during this whole ordeal, in fact they were hardly able to see, so most of the directions the two communicated were through taps on the arm or physical direction.

This went on for nearly the entire day, and by the time the storms began to die, and the caravan rolled to a stop for the night, the entire family was absolutely exhausted. All Sadiq really wanted to do was curl up and fall asleep, and he didn’t seem to be alone in that as Adrianna was already using what little energy she had left to shake the sand out from the blankets.

“We must eat first” Zehra told them, although he limbs looked heavy. “However tired we are, it will do little to rejuvenate us if we are still hungry in the morning.” She took the wood that her husband pulled out from the sandy back of the caravan and lit it with expert precision.

And so, Sadiq stayed awake long enough to feast on his sandy meal, occasionally spitting out chunks when there was just too much sand in his mouth to swallow. They also passed around the water flask, so that everyone could take a drink to quench their dry mouths and sore throats. This thankfully was still free of sand, and Sadiq did his best not to feast too greedily. He’d noticed over the last few years that he didn’t seem to need as much food and water as the rest of the family, so however much he liked it and it made him feel better, he tried to hold back to allow the others priority.

When the meal was finished, Zehra finally allowed them to settle down to sleep.

But, however hopeful of a good night’s sleep Sadiq was, a part of him knew that he wouldn’t be getting it. The nightmares he got had only grown more intensive the older he became, visions of soldiers from the Greek Kingdom striking down the people of the Phrygian lands, and every blow dealt, felt during the night like a physical blow against his own body.

When these nightmares had first begun, Zehra had worried that they were a result of her stories, as she had often told them tales about the fall of Troy, and the beautiful Helen, the King of the Spartans had come to reclaim. However, even after her stories stopped, the nightmares continued.

Not all his dreams were bad though. Although he was often plagued by these nightmares, he had other dreams to, more peaceful dreams of a field that stretched on eternally in each direction, with a single tree at the very centre where many children would gather to play.

Sadiq did not know who these other children were. There were five of them in total though, some looking older than others, but all able to see the other as an equal in the games they played.

When he awoke the next mornings, Sadiq could not remember their faces or if names had been exchanged, so he’d often put it from his mind, they were only dreams after all. All he did remember about the games was how little the five of them spoke, most of their games were conducted without a word exchanged, just laughter or grunts of frustration when they lost. Perhaps that was why he didn’t know any of their names?

These other children, the ones that appeared in his good dreams. There was something so tangible about them, something that felt so genuine and real, so there were even moments where he was telling Adrianna about them and simply forgot that they were figments of his own imagination.

She would laugh, and call him weird, but it was always said with such affection that he never held it against her, despite his embarrassment.

“Sadiq wake up.”

The boy opened his eyes, peering around sleepily in the dark. Adrianna’s hand was on his shoulder. She was biting her lower lip in worry, “Are you okay? You were calling out in your sleep again?”

Squinting, Sadiq sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Sorry, I woke you” he apologised.

By this point he was perfectly able to put up with these nightmares by himself, but the last thing he wanted to be doing was disturbing the family.

From the thin glow of the moonlight, Sadiq could see that Adrianna still did not look happy, her dark eyes were focused on him, her lip held in a tight frown across her ordinarily beautiful and cheerful face.

“They’re getting worse” she insisted, “You cried out in your sleep last night as well, mama just told us not to tell you.”

A small knot of frustration wound its way up in his chest. So, this had happened before already, and the family had just kept it from him. He was annoyed, although he knew justifiably he shouldn’t be angry at them. He was annoyed with himself for making their lives so much harder. He should be almost the same age as Adrianna by now, he should have married and be helping to support his family, but instead he was this eternal child they had been cursed with. While Zehra was always telling him that he was a great help, he knew that he could never be as much help as an adult man, he wasn’t as strong, dependable or self-reliant. And now, this was just another weight he’d given to the people who had shown him nothing but kindness since he’d been found.

“Sadiq…” Adrianna shook her head, a very small smile beginning to twitch into her eyes once more, “I know that face. Stop worrying so much, mama and ‘ab both love you, as do I. We’re just worried, you can’t begrudge us that.”

She was trying to comfort him, but Sadiq was in no mood to hear it. He instead rolled over on his blankets and closed his eyes again, lying perfectly still with his back to the girl.

Adrianna tried to coax him a little longer, but eventually she gave up, and turned back to sleep herself.

But Sadiq refused to give in to his exhaustion. If he could survive on less food and water, that meant he could survive on less sleep as well.

The next morning, they continued travelling, scavenging the various ruins and ravaged settlements they came across, being cautious to avoid any Spartan soldiers that still might be scouring the area.

They were out in the desert and the wilds for about a month, before Kutsal declared that they would be heading back to Ancoz.

Sadiq felt a small wave of relief. Ancoz meant they would be staying at an Inn, and staying at an Inn meant privacy, and potentially his own room if they were successful in turning a profit on their first day, finally he’d be able to get some sleep.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t slept since that night, but he’d slept very little, stirring at the earliest sign that a nightmare was brewing. As a result, this also meant he hadn’t visited the field with the other children in quite some time as well, it became difficult to distinguish whether a dream was going to be a good or a bad one, his body just naturally seemed to wake him up when it detected either.

Ancoz was just as exciting as he remembered it being though. The streets were busy and load, and there were people absolutely everywhere, including other children that looked around the same age as him. Kutsal and Zehra even let him go off and play with them sometimes. Playing with those children was different to being with the ones under the tree, as odd as it was to say, he felt a much closer affinity with the imaginary children in his dreams, than he did with the real ones standing right before him.

“Help us for the morning then you can play in the afternoon” Zehra told him, smiling as Sadiq watched a crowd of the other boys sprinting by after a small creature that was making sharp noises of excitement.

“What’s that?” He asked, pointing after the animal.

Kutsal glanced up from where he was setting up the stall, “a dog” he replied, “You see more and more of them these days, good for hunting…”

“Oh no” Zehra scolded, “We are not getting one, we barely have enough for ourselves!”

“But that’s the point of the dog” Kutsal protested.

While it sounded like the two of them were arguing, both Sadiq and Adrianna were perfectly aware that the debate would go on a little while longer, then Zehra would put down her foot at that would be the end of it for another month. They both exchanged a glance and smiled, a joke exchanged at their parent’s expense.

“Sadiq, you stay here and help Kutsal mind the store. Adrianna with me.” Zehra threw her arms in the air as she headed towards them.

“That’ll be to enquire after rooms” Adrianna nodded, stretching out her arms, “I’ll see you later Sadiq, and don’t let ‘ab buy a dog while we’re gone, or mama will kill him.”

He didn’t need that explained to him twice. While Zehra was normally a very caring, motherly woman, who loved her husband deeply, she could also be very fierce if she was disobeyed on something she had strictly forbade. Hopefully, Kutsal would have enough common sense to know that, however interested he was in these creatures.

Perhaps Zehra would warm to the idea eventually, but it would take time, and arguing with her would only make her more stubborn.

It would be nice to have a dog though Sadiq thought to himself, as he watched the other children run back past them with strange animal again, they looked like they made good playmates as well as good hunters.

“Sadiq, the basket.”

Jumping out of his thoughts, Sadiq hurried over to the pile of goods, to carry the first basket back to Kutsal.

They worked hard through the early morning, Sadiq putting an extra amount of effort in, to ensure that he would earn his own room by the end of the day. A lot of people, particularly women seemed to buy small useless things from him, simply on the grounds that he was a child, and Sadiq took full advantage of this.

However, he noticed that Kutsal kept looking up at the crowd, distracted from his customers and focused on something else. At first Sadiq had thought this was about the dog again, but when he looked up he didn’t see one in the crowd.

“What is it?” He asked, taking a small break from his own selling pitch, to check on him.

Kutsal frowned, but then shook his head, “It’s nothing Sadiq, I’ll let you know if it becomes a problem.”

That wasn’t particularly reassuring, but Sadiq obeyed and went back to his work.

Zehra returned about two hours later, but Adrianna was not with her.

Opening his mouth to ask after her, Sadiq held back when he saw both parents deep in conversation. Kutsal kept nodding into the crowd, and finally, Sadiq was able to see what it was he’d been so focused on.

There was a small group of men, they looked to be about the same age as Kutsal. They were gathered in the shade of one of the archways and appeared to be watching their stall very closely, in fact… Perhaps he was just being paranoid, but they seemed to have a particular focus on him.

“Sadiq.” Zehra called him to her, she was smiling, but he could sense a worry in her that she was trying to keep him from seeing.

“I am going to mind the store for a moment, Kutsal is going to take you to the Inn, Adrianna is worried that you haven’t been sleeping and I think it would be good for you to get some rest.”

Alarmed, Sadiq shook his head in protest. How had Adrianna figured that out? He’d been so careful. “It’s okay, I can keep working…”

But Zehra was already shaking her head, her eyes turning firm, “Go along with Kutsal, and both of you stick to the main roads.”

Kutsal gave Sadiq a small nudge, urging him on through the crowd. The men who had been watching them moved as well.

“Don’t look” the older man told him quietly, “They won’t do anything in a crowded street, and they wouldn’t dare to attack an Inn with the guards so attentive.”

Something was happening, and all Sadiq really understood was that these men were worrying his parents. Surely, they shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that, couldn’t they just tell the guards to make them go away?

At a few points in their journey Kutsal would change direction suddenly, guiding Sadiq with him, but they never seemed to lose the men who were following them.

“What is it that they want?”

“I don’t know” Kutsal replied, “But once we have you safe in the Inn I will report them to the guards.”

They reached the Inn that Zehra must have told her husband about, and the two of them entered, with Kutsal asking after the rooms that his wife had booked.

Having been escorted to his small room, Kutsal gave him a reassuring smile. “Try to get some sleep, Zehra will come by to check on you in a while, any trouble at all you climb out of that window and find a soldier.”

“Climb out the window?”

Kutsal reached out a hand and ruffled his hair, before reaching into his pocket and drawing out something else. “Here, if you leave the room wear this.” He handed Sadiq a small white mask that curved almost perfectly round the top half of his face, “It will make it more difficult for them to recognise you.”

Before he had the chance to ask any more questions the door had opened and closed again. He was alone, with a long list of questions and a building level of frustration. They were treating him like a child again.

Even if he looked like this, even if he was stuck in this infernal and childish body, he could take care of himself, others didn’t need to protect him all the time.

Grunting in frustration, Sadiq threw the mask to the other side of the room and fell down onto the bed with as much resistance as he could muster. But, whatever he’d told his parents, he was absolutely exhausted, and this being the first chance he’d had to sleep properly in a month, very soon he was fast asleep.

Tonight however, he was not plagued by nightmares, he awoke instead to find himself lying on his back amidst the soft and flowing blades of grass that made up the realm of fields in his dreams.

Sitting up, he rubbed at his eyes and looked around.

He didn’t see anybody else here, but the field could be seen clearly only a short distance away. Perhaps someone was waiting for the others to join them there.

His earlier exhaustion gone, Sadiq clambered to his feet and began the steady walk towards the singular large tree. It wasn’t a species of tree he recognised, but it was tall, and its branches spread out as if they were reaching out across the world itself.

As he drew nearer to the tree itself he realised that there was in fact someone already there. He recognised them, as one of the other children he’d played with. If he had to put an age to this child he would have considered them to be three or four years-old, although perhaps he looked closer to five these days.

The boy glanced up in greeting as Sadiq sat down next to him.

They simply sat there in silence together for a while, both gazing out across the perfectly clear sky that splattered the scene above them through the leaves and branches like blue beads on a mosaic.

And then, Sadiq did something he’d never done before. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, and he’d acted before he’d had a chance to even think properly about what it was he was doing.

He spoke.

“My name is Sadiq.”

A breeze whistled through the fields, emphasising the suddenly painful silence that followed.

The other boy didn’t speak, but he looked at Sadiq with an expression of light surprise. Head tilted slightly to the side, long hair bunching against his shoulders. Then, very slowly the younger looking boy opened his own mouth

“Den katalavaíno?”

What?

Sadiq tilted his own head in confusion, “I don’t understand what you’re saying?”

The boy frowned again, considered for a moment, then pointed to himself, “Herakles,” he then extended his hand towards Sadiq, giving him an intensive look.

Herakles? Was that another made up word?

“Herakles,” the boy pointed to himself again, and then returned his hand to its original position, pointing directly at Sadiq’s chest.

A name? Is that what he was giving him.

“Sadiq.” He gestured to himself, brown eyes still confused and enquiring, as he was unsure if he’d understood the other boy correctly.

The boy, Herakles? However, smiled and nodded.

“Herakles,” he pointed to himself, “Sadiq.” And then he followed this up with a word that Sadiq did understand, as he gestured to himself once more, “Greece.”

Greece? As in the Greek Kingdoms, is that where Herakles was from?

He was pointing to Sadiq again, looking for an answer.

But his own answer was far more complicated. There wasn’t really a word to describe this land, just the people who lived in it, so that answer would have to do, “Phrygian.” He pointed to himself, seeing the other boy’s confusion, he didn’t understand what that meant.

Well, at least Sadiq had a name and supposed origin of this boy, but that still begged the question of why his mind would go to such trouble to create such an intricate backstory for one of his dream playmates and go to the added effort of having him not speak the same language.

“Is this really a dream?” He knew that Herakles wouldn’t understand this question, but he phrased it out loud anyway, as if this time questioning the reality that existed around him. “Are you as real as I am, and this is all some weird shared dream space?”

He wished he could Herakles other things, like whether he to aged at a different rate to regular people? Or if he too suffered from strange and painful nightmares?

“Eísai san eména.” Herakles’ green eyes widened, staring at Sadiq in awe.

He wished he understood, he really did, but the words the other boy spoke, didn’t even sound like words to him.

Sadiq knew he’d finally broken some sort of barrier that existed around this world, he didn’t know why, but already he could feel the nature of this place shifting and changing around them. The tree itself even seemed to grow a little, but for what it was worth, it all felt pointless, after all they didn’t even understand one another.

But, more than that, Sadiq could feel himself beginning to wake up. The world of the tree faded, along with Herakles, and he found himself instead focusing on the darkened room around him, and the hand on his shoulder.


	4. The Meeting of Nations

Sadiq held the mask tightly in his hands, his brown eyes focused on it, tracing each and every curve, numbing himself to Adrianna’s sobbing.

He should be the one in tears, this was all his fault after all. He didn’t know what it was that the men wanted from him, and of course Zehra was in complete denial about his involvement in their lives having anything to do with this tragedy, but Sadiq knew the truth. If it wasn’t for him, then Kutsal would still be alive.

From what he could gather it had happened soon after he’d left the Inn. While on his way to speak with one of the soldiers, someone had grabbed him, and pulled him into a deserted alleyway. There were beatings all over his body, as if he’d been kicked and hit repeatedly.

“We don’t think they intended to kill him” one of the soldiers reported, “as we don’t see any knife wounds, it is likely that his heart simply gave out.”

Adrianna let out another loud hiccup and grasped her mother hysterically, while Sadiq’s grip on the mask just grew tighter.

Who were these men? He set his jaw. Because right now Sadiq wanted to do one thing, the one thing that might help Zehra and Adrianna to feel better, he wanted to find the men who had done this and kill them.

This small thing in his hands, it was the last gift Kutsal had given him. He hadn’t said thank you or been grateful for the gesture, he’d just thrown it across the room like it was nothing. The guilt tore through his gut like blades, pain seeping through his stomach, as his shoulders heaved, threatening to give up his last meal.

“We will do our best to find your husband’s killers though” the soldier assured them, apparently unaware that every word he said seemed to only cause Adrianna greater anguish. “Do you have a description, or any names?”

Apparently Zehra did, and she gave them willingly.

Like Sadiq she wasn’t crying, but he could see how much energy it was taking her to stand up straight and support her daughter, and he could hear all the pain in her voice as she reported what she knew to the soldier.

More than ever, Sadiq was convinced of who he truly was. He was a monster, some sort of demonic creature sent from the underworld itself to plague this poor and good family. Perhaps that was why the men had been after him, perhaps they recognised him from their previous visits over the years, saw the way he didn’t age, and saw the truth of what he was.

He waited in absolute silence until the soldier had left, leaving the three of them alone in the front room of the Inn.

“It should have been me,” the words had left his mouth, before Sadiq could stop them. “If I’d been there they would have just focused on me and left him alone.” He rose to his feet, purposefully, the white mask still hanging loosely from one of his hands, determination burning through his entire body. “I’ll kill them…”

“No!” Zehra spoke very sharply, seizing Sadiq firmly by his shoulders, forcing him to look her in the eye. “Even if you were armed and twice their size I would forbid it” she told him, “What’s done is done, and killing those men will not bring Kutsal back, it will only get us in trouble with the soldiers here. We will leave this task for them and put our faith in the gods that they will force those men to answer for their crimes.”

There was one part of Zehra’s reply Sadiq took notice of, and by the twitch in Adrianna’s large brown eyes, he could see that she had noticed it to. Zehra had not told him that it wasn’t his fault, or that he was wrong about his conclusion that Kutsal would still be here if Sadiq had only taken his place.

It took Zehra a moment to understand why both Sadiq and Adrianna had gone so still, but then she tightened her hold and shook her head quickly, looking utterly horrified by herself. “Sadiq you must not blame yourself for this. Those men, they did something very evil, they did, not you.”

But Sadiq pulled away, the tears finally threatening to spill from his eyes. “That’s what you’re always telling me!” His body was heaving with the energy it took to speak, while all this emotion was coursing around inside him. “Everyone always says that things aren’t my fault when terrible things are happening because I’m here! Well, to me that is the very definition of something being my fault!”

Although, in his swirling, chaotic mess of emotion Sadiq did not notice, the ground beneath him let out a strong tremor.

“I have brought nothing but trouble and pain to this family! I am an unnatural thing, something the gods have dropped onto the earth for sport, and I will not allow the people I care about to be tormented by them any further!”

The ground gave another violent lurch, causing the structure of the Inn itself to tremble.

“Sadiq!” Adrianna called his name, leaning forward herself to take his arm.

He stopped speaking, and the ground settled once more, as he stared in confusion at the woman he saw as his own sister. She was shaking, a lump rising and falling in her throat, but she kept her eyes firmly focused on him.

“Stop” she ordered, “Please.”

Sadiq still wanted to yell and scream, he wanted to tell the whole world about the injustice he had caused, but with Adrianna’s pleas he knew he couldn’t continue. He couldn’t hurt her anymore than he already had.

Squeezing his hand firmly around the mask, the boy raised it to his face and fitted it firmly over his eyes. Now no one could see what he was feeling, and it would remind him not to let them know, it would ensure that in days to come where he grew lax, that he’d never forget the damage his mere presence could cause.

There were burial arrangements in the morning, but at no point was Sadiq allowed to leave Zehra’s side, which to him seemed fair, because he wasn’t going to leave her side. If those men turned up again then he really would kill them, whatever his mother wanted.

He would have liked to extend the same courtesy to Adrianna, but as it turned out, the reason she and Zehra had been late back, was because she’d been taken for an appointment at the matchmakers. It was about time she was married it seemed, and the notion was only the more urgent now that her father was dead. Hopefully she would marry someone who would also help to take care of her mother, and then Sadiq would at last feel free to do what he now knew he should have done the moment he started causing trouble. He had to leave them.

Soon their wares would run out, and they would no longer have money to pay their keep at the Inn. It was too dangerous to go back out into the wilds, and Adrianna would need a parent or guardian to remain with her in the city until her marriage had been properly organised.

Sadiq kept his eyes peeled for the men who had killed Kutsal while out in the market every day, but either they had become better at hiding or were keeping away. For what little care he had for their lives, he hoped it was the latter.

He also worried about Adrianna though. While he was glad that she was finally settling down to have a family of her own, he was worried that she was putting herself through it all more for their sake and less for her own.

“Do you like him?” Sadiq asked, during one of the rare occasions they had these days, where Adrianna was helping out at the stall. They were down to only a small amount of their stock now.

“Him?” For a moment she was confused, then she realised what he meant and smiled, “Yes. He is a good man, if a little shy. Do not worry about me Sadiq, I know that things might be moving quickly at the moment, but everything is fine.”

“Do you love him?” The boy remained stubborn, folding his arms and keeping his mouth drawn tight.

Adrianna laughed, baffled by the question that had suddenly be thrown at her by her younger brother who appeared more than half her age. She took a small breath to compose herself again and reached out a hand to pat the top of his head. “Love is a complicated word Sadiq, and there are things more important than that initial passion. Stability, respect and partnership, I believe I can have these things with Eren, and provide the same for you and mama.”

Sadiq listened carefully. It didn’t sound like he was being lied to, these seemed to be Adrianna’s honest feelings, so he accepted them for what they were. He had not yet told Adrianna or Zehra that he was planning on leaving them as soon as things were settled. They would try and stop him, he was prepared for that, but Sadiq had made up his mind.

Several weeks past until the courting period of Adrianna’s engagement was finally over. Eren had agreed to offer a place in his home to both Adrianna’s mother and, as he saw it, younger brother, and, now that Sadiq had actually met the man he agreed that this was a good match for Adrianna. It was true what she’d said about him being shy, but he also could see that he was a good and honest man, the sort he would be happy to entrust the care of his family to.

The wedding date had been set, and everything began to move forward again.

It was not proper for them to move into Eren’s house until after the ceremony, but he had agreed to pay their fare at the Inn until then.

Underneath his pillow, Sadiq had been preparing. He’d hidden a small satchel there with spare clothes, a water flask he’d taken from their affects, as well as a few blankets. He’d even been saving the earnings he was given, to make sure he would have money to buy food before he left.

There was still a little left they could sell, so without concerns about paying their way at the Inn anymore, they continued to try and sell what they could before the seasonal market came to an end.

“These are items you found yourself?”

Sadiq turned at the sound of a soft and enquiring voice, and there and then, his eyes fell upon perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, and one that looked completely out of place here in the Ancoz market. Her dark brown hair was swept back in an ornate and complex style, braded around the top, while the natural flow of the hair was still allowed to cascade down her back. She was dressed in a long and expensive looking white robe, while her arms and neck were decorated with some of the largest jewels he had ever seen.

Lost for words, Sadiq gaped.

Thankfully Zehra, who must have been keeping an eye on him, came to his rescue.

“Is there something I can help you with?” She asked, and Sadiq noticed that she kept her eyes trained to the ground and bowed her head. Even without knowing who this woman was, it was clear she was the sort that commanded respect.

“I think there might be,” the woman smiled graciously, before standing aside to motion a boy to her.

The boy was about five-years-old, with a mess of brown hair, topped with a tiny curl. His expression was rather bland, but his green eyes were very much centred on him, and after a few moments of studying the boy Sadiq understood why.

“H-Herakles?”

This couldn’t be real… But that was him, that was absolutely him, the boy in his dreams, the one he’d spoken to over three weeks ago.

“Sadiq” the boy nodded, turning to the woman beside him. “Aftós eínai aftós” he told her.

It was that language again, there was no denying it. None of it made any sense, but Sadiq could not deny it.

“Do you know this boy Sadiq?” Zehra asked him, looking very surprised, “He hasn’t done anything wrong has he? Because I know Sadiq would never…”

The woman shook her head and smiled softly, “Not at all, but I think it is a good idea that we speak. We have rooms here in the upper district, perhaps you could meet us there for dinner when your work is done?”

It was now Zehra’s turn to gape.

“W-We could never impose like…”

The woman shook her head, “Not at all, I do insist,” she told Zehra of the address, giving Sadiq another smile, before turning to go, Herakles close in toe behind her.

“By the gods Sadiq, how do you know a boy like that?” His mother sound both impressed and shocked, “I’ve never heard you speak of him before?”

“It’s…” how did he even begin to explain something like this without sounding crazy, “…we met a while ago, but I didn’t think I’d actually see him here…” That wasn’t a lie.

“Well… it would certainly be rude not to turn up after we’ve been invited. I wonder what it is that woman wanted to talk about?”

As for who she was, Sadiq had never seen the woman before in his life, but it looked like she might be related to Herakles, they certainly seemed to have a similar appearance. She had spoken his language though, whereas the smaller boy didn’t, but, perhaps that meant she’d be able to answer his questions.

They finished up with the stall early and went to find Adrianna who had been spending time with Eren’s parents. Zehra insisted that they wash properly and dress in fresh clothes before heading to the address where Herakles and the woman were waiting for them.

Adrianna was just as startled by all of this as the rest of them, although Sadiq could see she was rather excited by the idea as well. And if he wasn’t so confused by everything that was happening, perhaps he would be to. After all, Sadiq had barely ever seen a house in the upper district, let-a-lone actually been in one.

But, here they were, just before the acceptable time, neatly trimmed and polished, ready to be presented to upper-class society. Sadiq had however, refused to remove his mask. After all, if there was ever a time not to betray your emotions this was probably it.

The door wasn’t answered by the woman or Herakles though, but by another woman, dressed in clothes not nearly as fine.

“Oh, do we have the right address?” Zehra looked embarrassed as she spoke, “We were invited here by Herakles and his mother?” She sounded unsure, and Sadiq didn’t blame her, he didn’t even know what the relationship between the two was. However, the guess seemed to be right, because the woman who had answered the door smiled and nodded, opening it properly to allow them inside. Another woman then led them through the large and beautiful marble entrance hall to the back garden where the table had been set for dinner.

“I am so glad you could make it.”

They were greeted by the same woman who had invited them here at the market, “Please do sit down, she motioned to the lounge seats. How in the power of the gods were you supposed to sit on one of those?

“We are honoured” Zehra told her with a bow, motioning for Adrianna and Sadiq to do the same. “My name is Zehra, this is my daughter Adrianna, and my son Sadiq.”

“Greece” the woman smiled, holding out her dainty hand for Zehra to take.

While stunned and unsure, Sadiq watched as his mother took it, allowing Greece to show her to one of the lounges, before taking up the one next to it.

Greece? Like Herakles had said. Perhaps he’d been describing his mother and not where he was from. No wonder he’d looked so confused when Sadiq had responded.

Speaking of which, Herakles was neatly stretched out on one of these lounge chairs himself, already helping himself to some of the finger food stretched out before them, as other women like the ones who had answered the door and led them here, moved around to ensure that all the food was close enough for the people on the lounge chairs to reach.

Whatever it was that Greece wanted to talk about, she did not seem prepared to do so until after they’d eaten.

So, they ate, Sadiq trying each different food with curiosity, it was unlike anything he’d ever had before, was this how rich people ate? It was also kind of weird trying to swallow while lying down, but eventually he got used to it.

When the meal was finally done, Greece spoke once more.

“Your son Sadiq, am I correct in saying that he is not your actual son?”

Zahra coughed, startled, but she glanced to Sadiq and nodded slowly. “We found him while searching the city of Troy for scarps we could sell” she confessed. This was not a surprise to Sadiq, he’d been told this story before, but he understood that the shock of Zahra was connected more to how Greece could possibly know that, he didn’t look that unlike the rest of his family.

Satisfied with this answer, Greece now turned her attention to Sadiq. “Would I also be correct in saying that while you have been acting as mother to him for many years, he has not aged at the rate of an ordinary child?”

She did have answers. Sadiq sat up quickly on his longue, adjusting himself to a more comfortable position so he could look at her properly, ignoring Zahra’s urges to be respectful. This was the first chance he’d ever had in his life to understand who he was, and he wasn’t going to let something as mundane as manners get in the way of that.

“Do you know what I am?” He asked, “Do you know why I’m like this?”

He watched, breath caught in his throat as he watched Greece’s head slowly nod. “You are a Nation” she told him, “As am I, and my son. We are, for all intents and purposes immortal beings that embody the spirit and culture of our lands. As long as the people and cultures of this land exist, we shall as well.”

“What?”

“Adrianna!” Their mother hissed, although, she to was unable to keep her eyes off Greece now either.

The evening had just become more bizarre and confusing than the morning.

“So… I can’t die?” Sadiq shook his head, trying to process everything.

“I could not tell you that” Greece confessed, “I believe all things are destined to die eventually, but no sword will harm you, and age will not take your energy or mangle your features. Death will not come for you as it would a human,” she motioned to both him and Herakles, “and you will also age differently, as your maturity is measured in things far more complex than years.”

He was a ‘Nation’? Sadiq still wasn’t sure he quite understood what that was. But she had at least confirmed to him what he had suspected, He wasn’t human.

“Even if this… I mean…” Zahra shook her head quickly, “… I do not doubt the words you speak my lady, but, what does this mean for Sadiq?”

Greece considered her own son for a moment, the two of them holding each other’s gaze for a few moments before she turned back to Sadiq and his family.

“I wish to take him back to Athens with me and Herakles. There I will be able to help him grow and teach him about who he is, alongside my own son. I understand that this must be a difficult decision to make, but…”

“Yes.” Sadiq pushed down the guilt he felt as Adrianna and his mother turned to him with shock. “I… I didn’t tell either of you yet, but I was planning on leaving as soon as I knew you were both settled. I can’t be a burden on your lives any more, and I can’t complicate things between Adrianna and Eren, he will notice I’m not aging at some point.”

This seemed like the perfect solution. He could leave knowing that his mother and sister were settled, and he could do somewhere he could truly begin to understand who he was and spend time with others like him.

“He won’t mind I’m sure” Adrianna argued, “Sadiq your place is with us, we’re your family.”

“I know… and you always will be, but… I want to grow up, and I feel this is the only way I can do that.” He couldn’t be content like this, stuck forever as a child being passed down his family’s line from carer-to-carer.

“Is this… Is this really what you want.” Zehra had risen from her lounge to sit next to him, her eyes searching for his amidst the shadow of the mask.

Bringing his hand up to touch the white of the material, Sadiq removed it carefully so that Zehra could see the honesty in his gaze. “It is. I love you, and Adrianna, and I wish the both of you only the best blessings of the gods, but this is what I want.”

His mother nodded slowly, pulling him into a tight and warm embrace, “Then go with our blessings.”


	5. Independence

**1200 BC – Greeks Migrate to Turkey Bringing Maths and Science**

 

He had learned so much from Greece and her son. These last few decades had been a chance to do everything Sadiq had ever wanted to do. He grew, being now around twelve-years-old physically, and he could feel himself growing again with every new piece of knowledge he learned.

Herakles however, did not age, remaining fixed at five-years-old, still content to follow his mother around and do as she told him. Sadiq was beginning to conclude that this was down to the boy’s laziness. From what he could see Herakles would much rather live the easy life of following someone else, than actually making a name for himself independently from his mother’s rules.

He had questioned the other boy on this once, but Herakles had only shrugged and gone back to whatever game it was he was playing.

Greece had given him a new name as well, she said she had spoken with the Seers to have his true name revealed, and that name was ‘Turkey’. It wasn’t a word that Sadiq knew, but Greece seemed to have a rather particular dislike for either him or Herakles using their ‘human names’, as she referred to them as. But that tended to make things confusing as Herakles was also ‘Greece’, which really left his mother as ‘Old Greece’ or ‘Mother Greece’, which was just a weird idea in itself.

But, however strict she was, Sadiq was grateful for everything she’d taught him, as he knew now that this was all knowledge he could use in the future.

Greece had told him that the knowledge of ‘Nations’ was something that still only a few across the world knew about. In her case, only the ruling class of Athens knew her true identity and what it meant to the Kingdoms. She would often be called in to consult with them, or to give them information when they needed it.

“Why do you only serve Athens if all the Greek Kingdoms are yours?”

“Because, this is where my son’s kingdom will begin” she’d replied, with a small smile, “Besides, a country does not need their Nation to be present everywhere at once, as long as I flourish, they will also flourish.”

“And what if you were to leave the Kingdoms entirely?”

“Initially it would be fine, however, if I were kept away too long then they would eventually start to see the negative effects, changes in weather, loss of soil fertility, even potential natural disasters.”

This reply had only made him think of his own country… whatever that was. Turkey was not a place that existed, he didn’t know exactly where it was he was supposed to be, but he knew that he didn’t want his people to suffer, and surely being here with Greece and her son was doing just what she had described to his people? So why was she keeping him here?

As time wore on, Sadiq felt his growth beginning to faulter, before stopping entirely.

Something was wrong. He couldn’t quite grasp what it was, but he was growing restless and uncomfortable, even within the luxuries of this palace. He finally had the answers he’d been seeking, and he’d found others like him, those who could reassure him that he wasn’t some freak, but simply a natural force that existed in nature. But, he wasn’t happy, not any more. As greedy and selfish as it sounded, he needed more, he needed to be home, and he needed to be helping his people step forward. Everything here felt wrong, even the new tongue he’d been taught to speak in didn’t sit right in his mouth, even if it did allow him to communicate with Herakles.

The next morning, his age having halted upon reaching thirteen, Sadiq stood before Greece and spoke. “I want to go home” he told her firmly, “I am grateful for everything you have taught me, but I feel I have learned all that I can here, and I want to return to the lands I came from.” Internally he could feel his whole-body trembling, but he did his best to remain firm and stoic on the outside, keeping his emotions contained where they could do no damage.

He watched Greece carefully as she considered his request, before slowly shaking her head.

“I’m afraid I cannot yet permit that yet. There are still many subjects I have to teach you, so that you can bring them back to your people and enrich their culture.”

While Sadiq wholly respected the woman, he felt a tight twitch of anger as she spoke. While he was sure she didn’t mean it, there was something disconcertingly patronizing about her tone. Perhaps she could get away with it when it came to Herakles because he was her son, but Sadiq was not. From what he had learned from Greece’s lessons, he was a Nation in his own right, completely independent from any other alive today. Surely his land’s culture should be its own, and that Greece’s teachings, while useful should not be deposited upon him like spare change on a street child.

It wasn’t like he had a choice. He was hundreds of miles from the borders to his lands, and without a carriage or money he wouldn’t be able to reach it unless he walked the entire way on foot.

Gritting his teeth, and grateful for the mask that hid his anger, Sadiq dipped his head and left the room, heading back out into the courtyard, joints stiff as he fought to contain himself.

“You want to leave?”

He stopped, surprised by the sudden voice. He was not however surprised by the identity of the owner.

Herakles was perched on top of one of the high walls that ran alongside his mother’s rooms, green eyes watching Sadiq’s movements curiously. However, even at this distance Sadiq saw that there was a degree of distress in the younger looking boy’s eyes as well.

“No… I mean…” Sadiq sighed, moving around the wall so he was at least in the garden and out of sight, before leaving heavily against it. “I just want to actually be out there doing something. Your mother has been so kind helping me like this, but I can’t just be another version of Greece like you are…”

Herakles frowned, shrugging his shoulders, then turned and began to climb down the wall, his bare feet gripping the loose spaces in the stone with careful ease. He could easily have got down by himself, but wishing to speed up the process, Sadiq gripped the smaller boy round the middle when he came within arm’s reach and lowered him down to the ground with a small smirk.

“I was doing fine by myself” Herakles huffed, straightening out his tunic with a small pout, “You didn’t need to do that.”

“Really? I thought your short little limbs could do with a hand.” Grinning, Sadiq slipped down the wall now, so that he was sitting against it instead, his hand lazily running through the dry grass that surrounded them.

His comment had annoyed the other boy, but it seemed like Herakles was doing his best to push his irritation down, Sadiq’s attempt to change the conversation hadn’t worked.

“It’s been fun while you’ve been here though” the younger Greek Nation sighed, moving over so that he could take a seat next to Sadiq. “Before you it was just me and mum with the slaves, and occasional boring adults talking about complicated stuff.”

A short pause followed, during which Sadiq considered Herakles. He had never thought of it like that, but now that he’d actually said something, Sadiq could see how it would be true. Growing up he’d occasionally felt alone as well. His sisters had grown up so much faster than him, and they always treated him like a child. Sadiq had to admit that was probably why he always treated Herakles like one, it was a welcoming satisfaction after being treated that way for so many years, to be able to do it to someone else.

“Why don’t you leave as well” he suggested, turning his gaze away to focus instead on the fountain ahead of them. He chose not to look at the other, because he already knew what the answer would be. In fact, the answer was so obvious, Herakles didn’t even reply, choosing instead to follow his own gaze out to the fountain.

“So, you are going then?”

“As soon as your mum lets me” Sadiq nodded, “But if she’s right, we’re immortal anyway, so, what’s a few years or decades, I’m sure I’ll see you again.” His lip curled, snorting back an amused laugh, “Perhaps you’ll even have grown by then.”

That was wishful thinking. Sadiq was beginning to conclude that Herakles would never grow while he still existed in the shadow of his mother, until he actually took responsibility for who he was and what he could grow to be, this would be the only form he would ever take.

The two fell into contemplative silence once more, lost deep in their own thoughts, as they enjoyed the company and presence of the other.

Then, after a short amount of time had passed, Herakles spoke once more.

“How many of us do you think there are?”

“Nations?” Sadiq wasn’t sure what else he could mean.

“In our dreams we met three other children, but we’ve never met them in the real world. Do you think they’re actually here as well?”

“Probably” Sadiq nodded, “If we are, it would make sense that they would be to.”

It had been a long time since either he or Herakles had been able to visit that field. Perhaps because they’d now met each other they’d lost some sort of access to that world, or maybe they simply no longer felt the need to visit it.

Herakles was looking down on his fingers, counting them out. “That means we know that there are at least six… so maybe there’s ten, or thirteen… maybe even a hundred.”

A hundred? Sadiq laughed. “There can’t be a hundred Herakles, we wouldn’t all fit.”

He saw the other boy’s face flinch at the mention of his human name, but he didn’t protest to it either.

“You’re probably right” he nodded, yawning as he laid back against his stony perch again. “But maybe others will be born like we were, and maybe they’ll find their way to that field with the tree as well.”

Sadiq smiled and closed his eyes, “Maybe you’re right.”

They spent the rest of the warm afternoon relaxing in the sun, while Greece tended to various political documents and meetings that kept her busy through dinner as well.

It wasn’t a problem though, she’d probably be free in the morning to resume their lessons, and Sadiq was keen to push his way through the rest of his classes, once he was done, she wouldn’t be able to keep him here any longer.

Removing his mask, he settled down into bed, prepared for good dreams of him returning home to share what he’d learned with the people that lived there, just knowing that he’d be helping them to grow, was enough for now.

Unfortunately, his dreams were disturbed by a small hand shaking his arm in the dark.

“Turkey wake up.”

“What is it?” Yawning, Sadiq sat up in bed, feeling the wait of Herakles on the edge of his bed, “If you’ve wet the bed again I swear to the gods I’m going back to sleep.”

A hand pinched the bare skin of his arm hard.

“Ow!” Gritting his teeth, Sadiq shoved Herakles back. He really wasn’t in the mood for this right now, and without his mask on he was already starting to feel more vulnerable, even in the dark where Herakles couldn’t possibly see him.

“Be quiet” Herakles ordered, his voice much sharper and stricter than Sadiq had heard it sounding before. The other boy actually sounded like he was taking something seriously.

Closing his mouth, curious now, Sadiq waited for the small Greek boy to explain what it was he was doing here in the middle of the night.

“I overheard mother talking” he whispered, his form tensing, “She was talking with one of the Politian men, and… I wasn’t supposed to hear, but I did.”

“What were they saying?” The concern and panic were beginning to radiate off Herakles and infect Sadiq’s own temperament. Whatever it was had Herakles in a state, and despite his earlier irritation, Sadiq began to feel a protective sense of anger directed at whoever it was who had said something to worry him so much.

Herakles shuffled uncomfortably, swallowing. “T-The Politian asked why mum was keeping you here… He said it wasn’t right that they should be housing a Nation they looked down on so much.”

Sadiq sniffed, the comment angered him, but he still wasn’t quite sure why Herakles had come here in the dead of night to tell him this.

“But then mum said…” Herakles’ voice jumped a pitch higher, and the material of the bed shifted once more, so he could whisper almost directly into Sadiq’s ear, “She said that you were here, because while we had you, the Greek kingdoms would have your people. That your lands would be under our control, just as you were under hers.”

Throughout this whole retelling, Sadiq felt various emotions past through him, the first being denial. Herakles must have misunderstood, it simply wasn’t possible that Greece would have said something like that about him, after all, they were all Nations, they were above the simple short-minded goals of humans, weren’t they?

This was then followed by anger. How could she think of him like that? How could she use him like that? He felt betrayed, and hurt, he’d trusted her so much, respected her and listened to everything she’d taught him like it was an absolute truth bestowed upon him by the gods.

But perhaps she’d only been telling the Politician this as a thrown together reason to protect Sadiq from being evicted? Maybe Herakles had heard her say those words, but she hadn’t really meant them.

His stomach was beginning to sink deeper and deeper in his body though, until it settled uncomfortably tight at the base of his torso. Had he really been so foolish and blind? Suddenly her not wanting him to leave made so much more sense, and he was an idiot for not realising.

Taking a deep breath, Sadiq pulled himself out of bed, almost unsettling Herakles in the process with the sudden movement.

Reaching out for his mask, Sadiq pulled it into place firmly.

“What are you going to do?” The boy sounded frightened, even scared, he was probably wondering if he’d been right to tell Sadiq what he’d overheard.

“I’m going to leave now” Sadiq replied honestly, his jaw set as he pulled together a few of the more important possessions he owned, or items that would be useful on a journey. “I can’t stay any longer, your mother won’t let me leave and I can’t risk you telling her you overheard her conversation and told me.”

“I wouldn’t…”

Sadiq cut him off. “Herakles stop. I’m glad you told me, but you need to let me go now.”

He hadn’t intended this farewell to be so sudden, and the only reason Sadiq was able to handle it as casually as he was, was simply because he did not believe this would be their last meeting.

“Decades or centuries, I’ll see you again” he promised, placing a hand on the smaller boy’s head, “Just… remember to be your own person, not just the same Nation your mother is.” These were the last words of advice he could offer, and, while he couldn’t see, Sadiq was pretty sure Herakles’ eyes were starting to fill with tears. “Please, just don’t tell your mother I’ve gone until she realises it, I’ll need as much of a head start as I can get.”

Beneath his hand, he felt Herakles nod.

Smiling gratefully to the boy, both still blinded by the dark, Sadiq released his head, and moved as swiftly as he could to the window, throwing his leg through the open passage, before descending out into the yard beyond.

His home lay hundreds of miles away, but, if he kept walking, he’d reach it eventually.


	6. The Passion of the Spanish Sun

**1100 BC – A colony is established in Southern Iberia**

Marina struggled to her feet, blinking rapidly against the harsh light of the sun. It had been days since she and the group of wanders she was travelling with, had last been able to sit down to a proper meal. The water they were carrying had sustained them this far, but she wasn’t sure how much longer they could cop unless they found another settlement soon.

They had lost many on the way to hunger, thirst or exhaustion. While it pained Marina to leave them, she, like the others knew that there was little they could do for the weak out here in the smouldering heat.

Eighteen, she thought to herself, that was how old she was now. She’d started out on this journey with her father two years ago, but he’d died a week into their travels. The others in their party were kind enough to allow her to remain with them, provided she helped out with the work that needed to be done.

She had survived this long out of sheer determination. But, there still came a point where everyone feared their end was due, and Marina felt her own imminent departure growing closer and closer, as the heat continued to beat down on her like the swirling crack of a whip.

“I see something!”

Marina’s head lifted, as did a two dozen or so others, all turning to look out at the man who had called out suddenly.

“I see a river, and there are plants growing around it!”

Her breath caught in her throat, was this it? Would they finally be able to stop?

They had set out on this journey to find new land, to find somewhere to settle, a place they could call their own, and at last Marina was hopeful that they had found it.

Like the other travellers she began to run, hurrying to the front of the group where, just over the horizon their new home might possibly lie. They were not disappointed. It was just as described, a small paradise along the course of a thick and free flowing river, its sheer mass making it impenetrable to the strength of the sun’s rays.

Although many would like to think otherwise, desperate people are not composed or modest when they come across the necessities of survival, particularly after having been without them for so long.

Marina and the travellers gorged themselves on the wild berries that grew on the bushes and helped themselves to as much water from the river as they could contain. The question of whether the berries were poisonous, or the river polluted, did not cross their minds, and it is perhaps fortunate that neither were.

However, once everyone had eaten, drank and celebrated long into the night, the real work began in the morning, and jobs were handed out, with Marina being given the position of one of the scouts.

It was her task to explore the area and report back any potential dangers, food sources, or interesting ore she might find, anything that could make their new life out here easier. She wasn’t alone in this search either, three of the other girls had also been sent out to explore, each in an opposite direction. Most of the men remained behind to start on construction, building shelters and furniture.

And this was how the next few weeks went by. There still was limited food, but at least nobody was going thirsty anymore. Crops had been planted as well, so hopefully in a few weeks they might have something to show for all the hard work they’d put in so far.

Things were coming along nicely though, almost every family had a house now. They were small, consisting of only two rooms, but really that was all they needed for now, more could be added later.

Marina had found various places on her adventures, including a slightly smaller river they could keep in reserve, should anything happen to their first. There was also a steady supply of fish here, much bigger than the ones in the wider and faster flowing river closer to the village.

This river however, had become her favourite place to visit when she found time in the day to do so. Around the village someone always needed something or wanted you to sit and talk with them. Marina found peace in simply being able to relax by herself, eyes closed and lost in her thoughts as she listened to the steady flow of the river.

It had been a long day, but Marina had finally managed to snatch a little time off. She’d be in trouble if she was caught slacking, but there shouldn’t be anyone nearby at the moment, and hopefully no one would come looking for her.

Stretching herself out, and organising her skirts around her, Marina settled down, intending to spend a good amount of time here before getting back to work. She was just about to close her eyes, when the sound of a cry roused her.

Sitting up quickly, she looked around. One of the mothers wasn’t, nearby were they?

Not wanting to be caught, Marina got to her feet, still looking around for the sign that she was being watched. Listening hard, she allowed her gaze to drift out across the bracken, intently listening once more for the cry.

However, the next sound that came was not one of distress.

A bright gurgling laugh echoed out across the tiny valley, whoever was here, they were close, and that was definitely a baby they had with them.

Determined now, Marina followed the sound along the river to where a patch of reeds was growing thickly together, blocking off the supply of water as it struggled to push its way round.

“Hello?” She called.

Suddenly this didn’t seem like a good idea. How did she even know this was a member of the village? While other people out here were rare, that didn’t mean it was impossible for murderers and other deviants to be lurking around. What if the sound of a child was intended to be a trap?

The baby hiccupped noisily. There was no mistaking that the child was somewhere in the reeds, but the question was whether or not she went in.

“Hello?” She tried calling again, this time taking a hesitant step closer, extending a trembling hand out towards the long flowing plants.

With a sharp inhale of breath, Marina threw the reads back, her legs tensed and ready to run.

A squeal of laughter welcomed her, and there, buried amongst the dead reads along the ground was a baby, as if was always meant to have been there. Lying on his back, the child smiled happily at her, lifting his arms intently, a clear sign nobody needed to be a mother to understand.

Reaching down, Marina lifted the child up into her arms, sweeping back the dark brown curls on his head.

“How odd,” she held the baby out, so she could get a proper look at him, “I’ve never seen a baby this young with green eyes before?”

Usually babies were born with sunny blue eyes that darkened with age, or beautiful almond eyes that matured and settled into their childish faces. This however, was unusual. The child’s eyes were more than just a simple murky green, they were bright and vibrant, shining as clear and brightly as grass that grew close to the river shore.

The question now was what did she do with him?

It seemed cruel to put him back among the reeds and considering the way he was now pulling on the plats in her hair, she wasn’t sure she could bare to put him down either.

“How did you get all the way out here?” That was the real question she needed to ask, but unfortunately the baby could only reply by blowing rather entertaining little bubbled that slowly began to drip down his chubby face.

Well that was one place to start.

Bending down by the river, Marina cleared the baby’s face and checked him for any injuries. But, other than the fact he’d been found in a pile of reeds and had eyes the colour of a cycad bush, he seemed perfectly ordinary and healthy.

Splashing his little legs in the stream as Marina held him over it, it seemed like nothing would stress or disturb this child, he was just cheerful and fascinated by everything around him.

“Well then” she declared once she was satisfied in his condition, “I suppose there’s nothing for it, you’re coming back with me, perhaps your mother is one of the women in the village.”

What sort of a woman would leave her child hidden amongst a swathe of reeds though? It wasn’t like you could forget them, and this one certainly made enough noise to make any chance of that impossible.

She knew she was due to be out until nightfall, but surely the village would understand that this was an emergency that called for a change in circumstance.

Adana, one of the other villager’s daughters ran out to greet her. The two were a similar age and had talked a few times before because of it.

“Where did you find a baby?” Adana gasped, her expression shifting to a rather suspicious one, “He… he isn’t yours, is he?”

Marina scoffed, she may not have had any children of her own yet, but even she knew that women didn’t just produce babies from nowhere. Even if Adana wouldn’t have noticed if she was pregnant, someone else in the village most certainly would have.

“Of course, he isn’t. I found him out by the river, I wondered if one of the women here had… misplaced a baby?”

Predictably the women she asked were offended by the idea that they would ever leave one of their children behind in such a cruel way, and, come evening no one had claimed the boy.

Sitting by the fire that evening, enjoying her meal with the others, Marina found herself swarmed by curious people, all with questions about the child and his strange appearance.

The baby himself didn’t seem to mind though, positively delighted with all the attention as he clapped his hands together, knowing quite happily on the food his was offered, although Marina made sure he didn’t put anything in his mouth that might cause him to choke.

“What’s his name?” One of the children asked eagerly, holding out there hand so that the baby could chew on it.

His name? Marina hadn’t thought to give him one. She’d been fairly sure when she’d arrived in the village that either one of the women would claim him as their own, or at least offer to take care of him with their own. Naming him had seemed pointless then.

But now it was becoming clearer to her, that if she wanted to keep him, this child was now hers.

What did she know about raising a child though? Particularly one as young as this?

Apparently exhausted by his long day, the green-eyed baby let out a long yawn, his eyes dropping shut distractedly as he released the other child’s fist.

“Antonio…” That name just seemed to sit right with him, “His name is Antonio.”

Sweeping the crowd away, she lifted the baby up into her arms again and carried him back to her house. He lay perfectly still in her arms, silent at last, although there was still a peaceful little smile on his face as she laid him down carefully in her bed, changing into her own sleeping things before curling up beside him.

None of her questions had been answered, and yet Marina found that she didn’t care. Where Antonio had come from didn’t really matter, because he was with her now. She was not alone, and she was no family-less anymore, she had him.

As hard as she knew this new task would be, Marina steeled herself for what was to come, perhaps it would mean she’d even have less work to do.

That was not the case.

Marina was handed a small basket by one of the other women who explained how to use it, and, once Antonio was strapped in, she was back out, exploring the same patches of land she’d already been over.

This job had been fun in the beginning when there were still new things to discover, now it just felt dull and repetitive.

Antonio’s little chuckles and gibberish singing made good company though, and Marina found herself enjoying today more than she had done in a while. She even sang along with some of the childish nonsense songs and sang a few little rhymes she knew herself when Antonio settled down for a few minutes.

He was an easy baby to keep, the heat of the sun barely seemed to bother him at all, and he made such a small amount of fuss about being hungry or thirsty, that Marina only ever remembered to feed and water him when she stopped to do so for herself.

“You’re an odd one” she told him, splashing a small sprinkle of water over Antonio’s nose when they stopped to drink, smiling as he let out a whoop of delight. But just be careful there all right.”

She’d sat Antonio in the shallows, he seemed old enough to support himself there while she drank, but his enthusiastic splashing was getting a little out of hand, his legs and fists striking the water again and again with equal and harder levels of enthusiasm, squealing happily with every splash.

Until, the boy unbalanced himself, and before Marina could react he felt backward, the back of his head striking hard against a sharp looking rock behind him.

She screamed, reaching out numbly, her mind striking her with the blow that it was already too late. One day as a mother and she’d already failed. This child she’d been determined to love and protect, the one she’d been thinking of as her own for nearly a whole day was gone.

Antonio stirred, spluttered, then splashed his hands against the ground, trying to sit up again.

“Gods alive!” Marina lunged forward, scooping him up in her arms.

He was alive? She turned him, sweeping back his hair, searching for the injury that must have been caused by the impact. Nothing. Had she… had she been mistaken? She could have sworn she’d heard the sickening crack as Antonio’s head split against the rock, but here he was, soaked through, but otherwise fine.

“Don’t… don’t scare me like that again.” It was her own fault, so she didn’t know why she was telling Antonio this, but it didn’t stop her from holding him close. From this moment on she’d be much more vigilant, she’d gotten lucky this time, but she wouldn’t allow Antonio’s life to slip into the hands of fate again.


	7. Influence and Children

To say that people weren’t nervous of Antonio would be a lie, after all, it started to become clear very quickly that the baby Marina had brought home may have perhaps been left abandoned for a reason, at least that was what the rest of the village said.

It had been ten years since she’d found him, but Antonio’s age had only inched a little further since then. He could now walk, and he most certainly could talk, something he would do all day if Marina let him, but, rather than looking like a healthy eleven or twelve-year-old boy, Antonio didn’t look a day past three or four.

It was true this was unusual, and even Marina was concerned to know what the reason behind this was. However, the one thing she was certain of, was that none of it was Antonio’s fault, and that he was a good and sweet boy.

Never in all the time she’d been with him, had Marina ever seen the boy frown, whatever happened, and whichever way the wind blew, he would remain smiling and upbeat. He helped her to cook and keep the house clean, obeyed instructions she gave him – unless something else distracted him part way through. But, as far as Marina was concerned, he was a better-behaved child than any of the ‘ordinary’ children belonging to the other women in the village.

It was a morning like any other. Antonio was standing on his chair, watching Marina cook their breakfast over the small stove in the corner of the room, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet with eager anticipation, chatting away about an interesting bird he saw the other day.

Their peaceful start to the day however, was disturbed by a knock at the door.

Ignoring it simply wasn’t an option. The close community of the village was restrictive and constricting sometimes, but Marina knew that if you chose not to play along with the others and do what you could to help, then you would find yourself completely alone when you needed support yourself. The villagers were already suspicious of Antonio, and by extent her by association, so she couldn’t afford to make them doubt her any further.

“Watch the pot” she told the toddler.

While Antonio still looked young, he was perfectly capable of keeping an eye on things in the kitchen for her.

Moving around the table to the door, Marina pulled it open.

Adana was standing on the porch, her eyes a wide with nervous excitement. “There’s a man here” she declared, “He came with a whole load of soldiers, says he’s from the kingdoms to the east.”

East? How far east?

Marina was hardly an expert on geographies and kingdoms, but she was pretty sure that there was a lot that lay to the east.

While it was odd for them to have visitors, particularly armed ones, Marina didn’t understand why Adana was here telling her this so early in the morning. Her questioning look must have made the other woman realise this, as she jumped slightly and nodded.

“He wants to speak with you, both you and…” She cast a look around Marina into the house at Antonio, her expression and posture becoming immediately uncomfortable, “…him.”

Confused, Marina shook her head, “How does he know who I am?”

Adana shrugged, “I’m just delivering the message. He doesn’t look like the sort of guy who likes to be kept waiting though.” And with that she turned and hurried away again, no doubt to discuss this gossip with the other women of the village.

A stranger from the east, here with an armed guard, who wanted to speak to her and Antonio. Alarms were sounding in Marina’s head, this was suspicious under ordinary circumstances, but considering how… special Antonio was, it was downright alarming.

Had rumours of this child who refused to age spread all the way to the eastern kingdoms already? She supposed it was possible with the growing number of traders they had here, but still, she hadn’t known that so many had taken note of her son.

She had three choices. Take Antonio and run, although she doubted they’d get far; remain here and wait for the man to come to her, although that might have unfavourable results if it angered him; or she could do as Adana had told her and go and meet with this man now.

There was no choice really.

Removing breakfast from the fire carefully, Marina set it aside before picking Antonio up in his arms.

“What about breakfast?” He asked, tightening his grasp into her shirt, but remaining focused on the pot.

“We’ll have it later” Marina assured him, “We need to go and see somebody first.”

Heart hammering in her chest, she left the house.

The eyes of the village seemed to be trained on her, following and tracking her movement as she made her way steadily to the centre of the settlement.

“Who do we have to see?” Antonio must have been the only one who didn’t feel the tension of the moment, which Marina decided to take as a small blessing.

“I’m not sure” she replied honestly, “a man from one of the eastern kingdoms has been asking about us.”

Although he was still young, even if he had been growing normally, Marina felt the best thing to do was to remain honest. Nothing seemed to stress Antonio, so she didn’t see any harm in it.

The man that had been looking for them was easy to spot. He was tall, handsome, and easily the most distinguished of the men he travelled with. In fact, Marina noted how well armed these soldiers truly were, with metallic breastplates, sword and helmets that would make them fearsome foes on the battlefield. It didn’t seem like they were here to cause trouble though, as many of the soldiers were chatting in a friendly way with the young girls who had swarmed around them.

Marina drew nearer, the crowd of village folk and soldiers parting as she made her way through them with Antonio.

It wasn’t until she reached the front that she saw the impressive looking man was not entirely alone. There was a young man with him, or, perhaps an older boy. He was tall for his age, but not yet shaving, with a body that suggested he had been through training most of his young life. But still, Marina would have called him fourteen at oldest. He was throwing stones irritably along the ground, pouting as he looked over at where the older soldiers were flirting with the women.

“Focus.” The man they were heading toward shot him a strict command, that the boy responded to reluctantly, turning his gaze to Marina and Antonio instead. All of a sudden, his eyes lit up, and a grin spread across his face.

“Yes!” He declared excitedly, “I don’t know him, but yes!”

“Yes?” Antonio questioned, glancing back at Marina, “Why is he saying yes?”

That was not a question she knew the answer to, but hopefully the older man would explain.

“Greetings” the man addressed her, “My name is Consus, General from the city of Veich, and this is…”

“Rome.” The boy stepped forward, taking her hand gently with what perhaps would one day become a charming smile, but as it was, he was far to young to carry enough gravitas to pull it off. “It is a pleasure to meet you Marina, I have heard stories about you and your son.”

Honestly, Rome seemed more interested in her than he was in Antonio, which proved to be a fatal error, as Antonio reached forward, grabbed a small curl on the front of Rome’s head and pulled.

Yelping in pain, Rome shot back, clutching his hands sharply over the rather stoic hair that had held in place, rather than coming away in Antonio’s hand.

“I am so sorry” Marina apologised, turning to Antonio with the best scolding expression she could manage, “You shouldn’t grab people’s hair like that, it could hurt them.”

The small boy smiled gently, “Sorry, I’ll remember that next time.”

A part of Marina wanted to chuckle at this. She knew that Antonio had been perfectly aware of that, he probably just hadn’t liked the idea of someone else grabbing at her so suddenly.

“Any way,” Consus cleared his throat, “We are simply here to confirm whether or not the rumours were true. Does your boy truly not age?”

So, Antonio was the reason they were here. Marina’s hold tightened, armed or not, she wasn’t going to let these people take him from her. These men with weapons and armour, men of war. Her Antonio was no such thing, and she did not wish for him to become one either.

“It’s okay, we are not here to harm him, or take him from this place.” He took out his sword, as if that was in some way supposed to reassure her, “Look.”

And then with a sudden force he spun, the sword coming down hard on Rome who looked completely unconcerned. He hadn’t seen. He hadn’t noticed.

Screaming out in warning, Marina instinctively reached out to stop him, but of course she was too late. The sword made impact, and then shattered. Consus moving between her and the boy to protect her from the metallic shards that splintered to the ground around them.

“What?” She gasped, heart pounding, head swirling as she tried to process what it was she’d just witnessed, “Is that… is that some sort of magic?”

“Some sort” Rome smirked, although he closed his mouth again when Consus glared at him.

“Then you do not know,” his eyes flickered to Antonio, “That child that you carry in your arms is a force of nature we still know very little about, just the same as Rome beside me is. They are powerful, indestructible and immortal.”

“Nations” Rome filled in, as if that explained everything, “We’re called Nations, and it means we’re some weird embodiment of kingdoms, or a country, or something. So as long as the country flourishes, we flourish,” he sounded bored, as if reciting something he’d memorised from a lesson.

“I’m sorry…” Marina shook her head, “I don’t know what religion you follow but I believe…”

“It isn’t a religion,” Consus shook his head, “It is simply the world. Our philosophers have researched Rome this past century, and they have concluded that these beings are not deities and they are not prophets, initially they barely seem to have a conception of religion…”

“You said ‘they’?” Marina cut him off, “You know of others like… like Antonio?”

Consus nodded, “We have seven on record now, including this boy here and Rome, although we suspect that there is probably more. We even think some might still even be being born into this world, this boy here, Rome says he’s younger than he or the others we’ve spoken with are.”

Antonio who had been silent through this explanation, suddenly stretched out his arms and yawned.

He understood, Marina knew that however young he appeared Antonio was surprisingly sharp, but often if something sounded too complicated or was simply something he didn’t want to hear then he wouldn’t pay it any attention.

“Can I have breakfast now?”

“Breakfast?” Rome looked up at Consus, his nose twitching eagerly. Marina understood that face, as she understood the face of every hungry boy who had been told it was rude to invite yourself to someone else’s food.

“You would be welcome to join us, I always make too much anyway.”

It was the polite thing to do, and, it sounded like Consus and Rome had some understanding of Antonio, maybe even where he’d come from. Marina felt a little more certain now, that they weren’t here to take him away.

Consus looked less sure of this invitation, but Rome had already eagerly accepted, and had spun around her in a small circle.

“Which one is your house?”

Marina led both foreign men through the village to her house which lay close to the edge. She would have to heat the food up again, but there were just about enough places around the table for them all to wait.

“So, what’s it like where you’re from?” Antonio spoke up the moment he was sitting down, cutting off Consus who looked like he’d been about to say something else.

“Beautiful” Rome boasted, “The city I live in has huge buildings made from stone and marble, and we have gardens that are designed by artists. Our food is also the greatest in the world.”

“No, it isn’t,” Antonio shook his head, “My mum makes the greatest food in the world.”

“Antonio” Marina scolded, although she smiled as she did it, it was always nice to hear how much he appreciated her food.

“What about this place?” Rome glanced around, “This village can’t be all there is?”

“Rome,” Consus’ voice barked out, “I will order you to be quiet if I have to.”

But Marina shook her head, turning away from the pot, although she continued to stir it over the fire. “It’s okay” she assured the stern looking man, “As far as I know this is the only village in this area yes. We travelled many years to find it and build up our home here, perhaps there are others around, but the traders have never spoken of them.”

“But it’s a great village” Antonio added competitively, “We have gardens that look pretty all by themselves.”

They did not have any gardens here, so Marina could only assume Antonio was making it up, or he was talking about the greenery that surrounded them. Perhaps they could be called gardens she pondered, after all, the village had laid claim to them, so in a way they were the village’s gardens.

Rome opened his mouth, ready to reply with something to further to argument, but, with a relief, Marina moved the pot off the heat, and ladled several helpings into four bowls. “Breakfast” she declared, placing it down in front of the three males, before taking up the seat next to Antonio and beginning on her own.

“Food in a bowl…” Rome considered it, pulling a face.

Consus struck him round the back of the head, not in an unkind way, but a forceful nudge of warning, perhaps the same as a father might have given a son.

“Eat your food and be grateful for it,” he had already started on his own, his stiff and rigid body lifting the bowl to his mouth and taking a long sip, turning a little red once he realised how hot it was, although he didn’t complain, and even persevered, even though Marina did her best to stop him.

Men. Honestly, they were the same no matter where you were from.

After he had gotten through all the possible expressions he could pull at her cooking, Rome finally lifted the bowl himself and braced himself for a sip. Marina watched with amusement as he slowly started to relax, and then began to drink rather quickly.

“I told you” Antonio grinned, already pushing his own bowl forward for seconds.

“Still… isn’t as… good as… home” Rome guzzled between mouthfuls. He placed the bowl down with a deep burp and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, “It’s better than I thought it would be though.”

“Thank you for the meal Marina” Consus nodded, “Allow us to pay you for our share…”

Surprised, Marina shook her head, “Not at all, I won’t hear of it. In our village we believe in providing for our guests and ask for nothing in return.”

It wasn’t right to accept someone else’s money; besides, she’d already made the food before she knew that they’d be joining them for breakfast.

“So, now you have confirmed Antonio is one of these ‘Natals’…”

“Nations” Rome corrected her as he downed his second bowl.

“…Nations, what is your plan going forward? Will you leave? I do not mean to be rude but, I must confess I am still concerned you have plans to take Antonio back with you.”

“No point” Rome shrugged, “He belongs here, I belong home, you can’t really move a nation around,” he pointed at Antonio, “particularly one that still looks as young as him, he’d gain nothing from it, and we have nothing to gain by holding the Nation of a tiny village either.”

“But,” Consus added, “We will remain for a short while to observe. Our cities superiors believe that it will be good for our own Nation to be exposed to another of his kind that isn’t so… wild…”

Marina wasn’t sure what Consus meant by that, but she decided not to ask, this was already too confusing as it was.

“…I am also to take notes for our government of observations made of this new growing Nation, to see how his growth reflects that of your village.”

Her heart sank. So they didn’t intend to just leave her and Antonio alone, but still, she took a breath, this was better than someone taking him away, and who knew, perhaps it would be good for him to be exposed to another ‘Nation’ as well.


	8. The Domestic Dream

The years had slowly begun to drag by, and, just as promised, Consus and Rome remained. Occasionally they would be visited by other men dressed in armour similar to the one they had arrived in, but mostly they were out here on their own.

Initially the two had just been observing, that was until the village became annoyed and insisted that if they were going to be here and eat their food, they would have to work as well.

Clothes had been made for them by the seamstresses, until both the men looked as if they could have been born and raised in the village. Indeed, it became impossible to single them out in the fields amongst the other men.

But, that wasn’t to say they’d forgotten who they were. Marina had often seen the two of them practising their sword skills at dawn, Rome had even asked Antonio if he wanted to join in, but her son had refused on the grounds that he didn’t want to be up that early in the morning.

Antonio had grown though, that was one of the most impressive parts about Consus and Rome being here, it did seem to have inspired something in the child, who had steadily made his way up through the years until he settled around the age, of what appeared to be, eight.

He had made a few attempts to play with the other children in the village around this age, but their parents must have told them something, because Antonio always returned looking a little dejected after these trips.

She was grateful for Rome’s presence now. He seemed completely disinterested in anything, unless it was flirting with girls, doing something impressive in front of girls, training, preferably in front of girls, or talking with Antonio.

Rome seemed utterly fascinated with the younger boy, passing on his own lessons, which he now seemed much more enthusiastic about while teaching them to another. Consus and Rome even taught Antonio their own language, with Marina picking up a few words and phrases herself.

“I’m impressed” Marina commented to Consus, while they were watching the two boys playing out by the stream. It was a hot day, one of the hottest in a long time, so this seemed like the appropriate place to pass the time now that work was finished. The other villagers would be by the main river, so they shouldn’t be disturbed here.

“What is?” The man turned to her, his head tilted, while his hard expression remained unchanged.

“I could have sworn you were both from somewhere that spoke the same language as us, you both speak it so well. How many languages do you speak?”

Consus shrugged, “It was pure luck your village happened to speak one of the languages I’ve been trained in, but I’d say I spoke maybe five, it’s one of the reasons I’ve been Rome’s teacher for so long, he has a surprising knack for languages.”

Marina smiled and nodded, “Maybe Antonio does to, he seemed to pick up your language fairly quickly.”

A small yelp and a splash interrupted them, as they looked over to see that Rome, as tall as he was, had hoisted Antonio out of the water by his ankle, tangling him like a fish, the scalp of his head mere inches from the ground.

Marina’s instinct was to panic, but she knew that even if Rome did drop him by accident, it was an injury he’d recover from quickly, if it even hurt him at all. So instead she took in a deep breath and turned back to Consus who had been watching her carefully, although he quickly averted his gaze again when she looked back.

“These Nations… how many more do you think will be born?”

Consus shrugged, “A question like that reminds me of the rather colloquial turn of phrase, ‘How long is a piece of string?’,” his nose twitched slightly. “I don’t think there is an answer I can give, as long as people keep forming borders and defining the ownership of land, there will always be Nations that are born.”

When she looked up again, Marina saw to her relief, that Rome had put Antonio down again, and now appeared to be showing him something in the sand he was drawing out with a stick.

“That’s where Turkey lives…” Marina overheard him saying, as he tapped one particular part of his drawing, “Next to him is where Greece lives with her son, Egypt is here, then I’m here, Germania is up there, and,” with a particular flourish he gave the last part of the picture a poke, “This is you.”

“And what am I?” Antonio asked, his curls still damp with the water of the river and tangled wildly from the time he’d spent dangling upside-down.

“You’re Spain.”

A sharp feeling of discomfort ran through Marina’s gut as she heard that word spoken. He wasn’t Spain… he was her son, Antonio. He should remember that, he should remember who he was…

“Are you okay?” It was Consus who had spoken.

Marina nodded quickly, “Yes I’m…” she shook her head, “No, I’m not… It’s been occurring to me more and more that I’m getting older and that there will come a time when I’m not here anymore to take care of him. He’ll be alive for centuries to come; will he even remember me after a while…” Perhaps he would remember her for the first hundred or even two-hundred years, but one day she’d just become one of those mortals he’d known a long time ago, mixed together with the great many others that were to come.

Consus didn’t have an answer for her, or maybe he just didn’t have one that she’d want to hear.

His relationship with Rome was different, it was the relationship between a student and a teacher. A student was expected to continue past their teacher, remembering the lessons they were taught, not the person that they were. But between her and Antonio it was different, Marina had never gone on to have children of her own, her friends were fleeting, and she was an outcast to the village. Antonio was all she had.

The boys must have exchanged other words, because Rome suddenly jumped to his feet again, laughing heroically, as he posed dramatically against the backdrop of the tiny valley and trickling stream.

“No way, that barbaric savage could never take my land” he grinned, “and if Germania ever tries to threaten you then I’ll be here in a flash with all my armies.”

“That isn’t for you to decide!” Consus moved away from Marina’s side to storm over to where the two boys were standing, probably to give Rome a good scolding.

“Are you okay mum?” Antonio had wandered over, keen to avoid the arguing match that was soon to follow between their two visitors. “You look kind of pale?”

Marina flushed, she hadn’t meant to worry Antonio with her existential crisis, none of this was his fault after all.

“Yes, I’m fine” she smiled, bending down to wash some of the mud of his face. Antonio didn’t look convinced, but he nodded, standing in contemplative silence for a few moments before throwing out a second question, “Will Consus be staying tonight as well?”

Freezing, the dark-haired woman gaped. She’d been so careful, and hopeful that Antonio wouldn’t notice the nights she’d spent with the soldier.

It didn’t mean anything, not really. It was just inevitable really, Marina was alone and unmarried, and Consus was a handsome man who similarly had no one to share any intimacy with. And, perhaps on some levels they felt a sense of comradery with one another as guardians of children, with all the power and strength of a country. Who else could understand their concerns and dedication?

“I don’t think so” she replied stiffly, trying to remain honest, “I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Antonio, I just didn’t want you to think it was something more than it was.”

The boy tilted his head, green eyes blinking with confusion. “You’re friends, right?”

She could have laughed at his innocent naivety, but that felt too cruel, so instead Marina pulled him into a warm hug, “Yes, we are friends.”

Antonio’s arms looped around her back, and hugged her in return, “Then it’s all as I thought it was.”

Another year passed, and, as the rumours around Marina in the village began to grow, Consus agreed to move into their house with Rome, so it at least looked like there was some decorum in the relationship that the two had been having.

Antonio didn’t grow any further, but Marina was perfectly comfortable with that. Rome however, seemed to have come on in leaps and bounds, presenting himself at something very close to an adult man. He was shaving, and the broadness of his shoulders had only grown to a point where it was difficult to fit him through some of the narrower doorways in the house.

He’d also started spending a lot more time with the girls of the village. Strangely enough they didn’t seem to mind him as much, as they minded Antonio.

But, Marina had further news of her own. It was perhaps inevitable that this would have happened at some point, although she had assumed she would have been too old by the time her relationship with Consus had started. She was pregnant.

Consus had been rather taken aback by the news, but in his stiff silence, Marina knew that he’d do the right thing, he’d stay by her, even if the order came from him and Rome to return back to their kingdom.

While Antonio seemed excited about this new development, it only seemed to have pushed Rome further away from the rest of them. He seemed indifferent to the unborn child and had been far more stand-offish with Consus than he had been previously, accusing him of keeping Rome here against his will. To which Consus would remind him that they were here on orders and would remain here until the orders came for them to return.

There had been a few nights where Rome would be gone for several days, stumbling in a few mornings later in a fairly aggressive mood, boasting about the girls he’d conquered throughout the village.

Consus’ scolding seemed to do no good, in fact it only encouraged the destructive pattern of behaviour.

“He needs to go back…” Consus shook his head, “When the next messenger arrives from Rome I will request that he receive orders to return, they must have need of him in the city again by now.”

It was true that Rome seemed to be indulging in doing whatever he could to disrupt the village. Sleeping with women, damaging the crop fields in drunken rages, setting the bucket mechanism they used to collect water adrift.

And, every time he did something like this it seemed to weaken Antonio. Marina had noticed that the usually energetic and enthusiastic boy had become more subdued and quiet. Following the incident with the bucket, he’d barely been able to stand until the village had finally managed to replace it.

She hadn’t wanted to be the first to say it, but she agreed wholeheartedly with Consus. She wanted this village to be a safe place where her unborn child and Antonio could live happily and safely, Rome was threatening to destroy all of that.

It took a month for the next messenger to appear, but as promised Consus did pass along the message, along with the news that he wished to remain, having taught Rome all he felt he could teach him.

The child inside Marina was growing, causing her muscles to stiffen and ache. She could no longer work with the other women, and the older women of the village, who had finally taken an interest in her, advised that she rest.

But this only meant that Antonio was saddled with more work, to make up for the fact that she was unable to perform it. But he was unwell, he shouldn’t be working either, not while Rome’s antics were doing so much harm.

But hopefully he would be gone soon, with the arrival of the next messenger, hopefully he would have his orders to return.

Marina’s felt her body contract uncomfortably, she’d been having a few spells like this over the last few days, but she was assured they were perfectly normal, it just meant that the baby would be coming soon.

“Should I fetch someone to help?” Antonio reached out his hand to clutch at hers tightly. He had been sent home early today after falling onto one of the bushes by accident and crushing it, Consus was now working extra hard for the both of them.

She was about to reassure him she was fine, when another crippling pain tore through her. This had to be it, the baby was coming.

She nodded, “Yes, please.”

Despite his weakness, Marina knew that Antonio would run as fast as he could to find help. He was familiar with the people in the village, he’d know who it was that he needed to ask, and where he could find them.

Taking deep breaths, Marina bit her lip, fingers digging into the sheets of the bed behind her. Antonio would be back soon, he’d be back soon.

Her faith in him was not misplaced, as no more than five minutes later she heard the hurried steps of a small boy and a second party’s.

“Fetch some water boy, warm it, but make sure it isn’t scolding!”

The hand that took hers now, was not a familiar one, but it belonged to someone who hopefully understood what it was they were doing.

She just had to push through this, and everything would be okay. Everything would be fine, and they could truly begin their life as a family. Rome would go home, Antonio would return to his former strength, Consus would stay here, and everything would be fine.


	9. What Comes To Us All

A woman in her late-thirties to mid-forties, giving birth for the first time in a newly established village without medicine or doctors with any success would have been a small miracle.

And indeed, there was a small miracle.

As the older woman closed Marina’s eyes for the last time, she shifted aside to allow Antonio to see the tiny life Marina had given her own life to deliver for the first time.

In all his life Antonio had experienced many emotions. He’d felt joy, disappointment, excitement, friendship, love and frustration. But, this emotion was a new one to him, and one he irrationally hoped he would never feel again, as hot and thick tears rolled down his cheeks. Loss. He felt loss and meaningless.

He was a Nation, supposedly something special and powerful, but what good was that if he couldn’t keep her safe. She’d given him everything, she’d cared for him even though the rest of the village would have preferred to leave him on a rock somewhere to die. She’d defended him, loved him and treasured him, everything Antonio was, it was all down to her, and he had never been able to give anything back.

His eyes flickered to the baby. He knew what would happen now, she’d be taken away and placed with a mother who had recently given birth herself. A child needed to feed after all, but that would be it, she’d be taken away from him and placed under the care of someone who would teach her to fear him and despise him just like everyone else did.

The heavy fall of footsteps echoed around the house as another party entered. Antonio knew who it was, but he couldn’t look around and face them.

Consus didn’t speak, he didn’t make a sound, but Antonio could sense him here in the room, staring at Marina’s still body with the same fixation he had been. What would he do now? There was no reason for him to stay, the duties he previously could have argued overruled the orders given to him by his city, no longer applied.

A father was not needed to raise a child, unless there was a wife to support, that was how it was seen here and in a great many other places.

Rome would be leaving to, and Antonio knew that had to be the way things were. While he adored having someone else around who was like him and could teach him everything there was about being a Nation, he wasn’t stupid. If Rome remained, and carried on in this same vain, then Antonio would die.

“Aidia,” Consus spoke stiffly, “If it was a girl, Marina wanted to call her Aidia,” he then turned and left, and that would be the last time Antonio would ever see him.

Consus took Rome and left that night, as soon as provisions for the journey had been packed. The orders to return had not arrived yet, but Rome was in no mood to argue, he’d been desperate to return to his home, and was probably over the moon that he had the chance to do so now.

Antonio was left in the house alone.

Marina’s body had been taken away and buried, and Aidia had been placed under the care of someone else.

For the very first time in his life he had no one.

And with this came another new emotion, and that was anger. He spent all night curled up in Marina’s bed, cursing Consus and Rome, cursing that they’d ever come here. Without them he’d never have felt this week, and Marina would never have been having a child. The two of them would still be together!

That night the river burst its banks and flooded several of the lower fields. But, despite the destruction, Antonio awoke feeling much stronger than he had done in a long time. Marina was gone, there was nothing he could do about that, but what he could do for her, what he could do for her daughter Aidia, was ensure that this village succeeded. He could ensure that the village was prosperous and would provide for her. He could give something back, and he fully intended to do so.

He visited the house of the woman who had taken her in that evening after work, a small basket of provisions held tightly under his arm. Marina had always told him it could come across as impolite turning up on someone’s door uninvited, but she’d also told him that it was good to bring something when visiting, so hopefully the two would cancel each other out.

There had been quite a bit of work to do today, because of the damage caused by the river, but hopefully it wouldn’t be considered too late to call.

“Oh my!” The girl who answered the door was not the woman who had taken Aidia in, but she looked as if she could be one of her older daughters, and she seemed rather shocked to see Antonio standing on the porch.

“I came to see how Aidia is getting on” he told her, holding up the basket as an offering, “I hope she’s still healthy?” In his eagerness, Antonio was already standing on the tips of his toes, trying to get a good look around the girl in the hope of catching a look at the baby he imagined would be somewhere in the depths of the house.

She seemed uncertain, but withdrew back into the house, asking him to wait there.

Antonio waited patiently, although he couldn’t help but overhear the murmurs of worried and annoyed voices inside the house, even if he couldn’t work out exactly what they were saying. However, as mild as he was in nature, Antonio wasn’t as slow as he could occasionally appear, he knew that this tone was not a good sign.

Eventually the girl returned, shaking her head. “Sorry, she’s asleep and mamá doesn’t want to disturb her.” For all Antonio knew this could be true, and he didn’t hear the cries of a baby inside, so instead he simply nodded and offered her the basket anyway. It was mostly just filled with stray pieces of food he’d found around the house, but hopefully they’d be of use to the family. The girl seemed hesitant to take it, but when it became clear Antonio wasn’t going to leave until she did, she forced a smile to her lips and took it from his hands, thanking him quickly.

He hadn’t been successful today, but Antonio was determined to be persistent, they’d have to let him see her eventually.

It appeared he was too late to see Aidia every day for the next week, however, after maintaining his strict schedule of visiting the household every evening, on day ten, he was finally permitted to enter the house, where he found that Aidia was indeed sleeping. But, it still gave him comfort to look down at her sleeping form and see that she was being well cared for.

They didn’t stop him from visiting her after that, although Antonio found that he was often watched closely when in the house, evidently the people in the village still didn’t trust him.

Rome had told him that the people owed him respect, as he was, in essence, the life blood of the country they were trying to build but making such a bold statement seemed a little… weird, and he doubted that anyone would actually believe him.

He was just that scary kid that didn’t age, some sort of trick from an evil god, send to worry the people and sow mischief. But, Aidia was normal, and over the next few years, Antonio watched her grow, first into a child, and then a woman.

She looked so much like her mother that it was uncanny, and yet Antonio recognised the way her jaw set when she was annoyed, being very similar to her father’s.

Most importantly though, Aidia knew him, and while she understood his lack of aging as little as the rest of the village, she was kind to him. He’d been a presence in her life since birth after all, and Antonio liked to think he had established himself as an important figure in her memories.

“How old do you think you are?” Aidia asked him one morning, while they were skimming stones by the river. The two came here a lot, ever since Antonio had brought her here for the first time and told her about how it had been her mother’s favourite place. Antonio had told her a lot, stories about both of her parents, and tales of the village, he did not however, burden her with details on Nations or Rome’s true identity.

Antonio looked down at himself, prompted by her question, “Seven or eight?”

Aidia laughed sweetly, nudging him gently, “I mean how old do you think you really are?”

Oh. As odd as it might sound, Antonio had never actually thought about that before, and so it took him a while to even begin to get his mind around it.

“Well your mother found me when I was a baby, and that would have been… maybe thirty years ago… give or take.” He really couldn’t remember, most of his memories blurred together before the arrival of Rome and Consus, but he reckoned, based on how the others in the village had aged that it had been roughly that number of years. He was definitely older than the seventeen-year-old Aidia, that was simple enough.

“Impressive” she chuckled, “and absolutely the real reason why the village can’t stand you.”

Confused, Antonio glanced at her, watching the way Aidia flickered her eyebrows at him with a wide grin, “They can’t stand the fact you remain youthful forever, while the rest of us are doomed to age.” She laughed, and despite the way her words sent a small shiver down Antonio’s spine, he smiled back.

“The plan is to age at some point” he told her, “I do age, just, very slowly.”

Grinning, Aidia shook her head, “Well if you ever do, I hope I’m still alive to see it.”

While they were said with a smile, those words haunted the young Nation. How many more would he have to see pass away before his eyes, how many more loved ones would he have to out-live.

These were grim topics though, so Antonio did the best to push them from his mind.

The two sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds that disturbed the piece was that of the flat rocks skimming against the water, before sinking and dropping to its depths.

“I sent a message to Veich,” Aidia spoke up again, although this time she did not smile or look Antonio in the eye, perhaps knowing how shocked he would be by this news, “with one of the traders who said they were heading that way, I wanted to find out if my papá was still alive.”

Her papá? Consus?

Antonio opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what it was he was supposed to say to her. Even if Consus was still alive, he would probably be too old to travel by now, and besides, there was something about the idea that unnerved him. He’d put that part of his life behind him, he’d had to, and he didn’t like the idea of having to revisit it now.

But how could he scold her, of course Aidia would want to know of her papá, and who was he to deprive her of that.

“I hope you receive good news” he nodded, before skimming another pebble out along the surface of the stream.

Perhaps the trader would not reach Veich, and even if they did, by then they might have forgotten Aidia’s message, these were all things that Antonio knew he could hope for that were not impossibilities.

Best case scenario, they’d find Consus, learn of his death or something like that. Perhaps he’d even died bravely in a battle, they could bring that news back to Aidia and she’d be satisfied. By the gods let her be satisfied with that.

He waited with baited breath for the first two months, but when nothing seemed to come of Aidia’s message, Antonio began to relax again.

Oddly enough he found himself growing slightly in popularity, particularly with the young men in the village, who seemed keen to play with him in oddly childish gestures, particularly whenever Aidia was around. She told him that several of them were practically tripping over themselves to tell her how they didn’t believe any of the rumours about Antonio’s origins.

“They think if you like them then I will” she explained to the very confused boy, chuckling at his bewilderment, “They’re nice guys, most of them, and I suppose I will have to pick one of them eventually, I just wanted it to be you and me a little longer.”

Antonio himself knew nothing of love and had no understanding of the sorts of relations that passed between men and women in the village, but he did understand that the two sexes tended to partner off when they got to about Aidia’s age in order to start a family.

Of course, he should have seen this coming. Aidia was basically a woman now, and as such, he couldn’t expect her to be here to entertain him and keep him company for very much longer. She needed a man to take care of her now, and he was only a boy.

“How will you decide?”

A small smile graced Aidia’s lips, she winked at him, but said nothing more. Many centuries later Antonio would think over that wink and smile, surmising various theories as to what it meant, but he still could never be absolutely sure.

“Aidia.”

One of Aidia’s older adoptive sisters was running towards them, “There’s a man here asking for you and Antonio.”

The small boy’s heart froze, his mind echoing with familiar memories, mapped onto this exact moment.

He reached out a gripped Aidia’s curious hand as she stood to follow.

‘Don’t go’, those were the words he wanted to convey, but she only shook her head and tugged back, pulling him along with her. Perhaps a part of her knew the same thing Antonio did, that the origins of both of their stories was waiting for them in the square.

As they rounded into the square, it became very obvious that the man waiting for them was not Consus, he was far too young, but he was from the same city, the armour and sword shape gave that away.

“Who do you think that is?” The girl asked, with a mischievous grin, “Perhaps a messenger from my papá?”

The figure turned towards them, brown eyes meeting Antonio’s own, red cloak wrapped around his shoulders billowing in the wind.

He knew that man.

“Rome” he gasped, the words escaping his lips unintentionally, as Aidia’s own eyes widened with curiosity.

“Rome, as in ‘The Rome’ from your stories?” Her eyes were flaring with excitement as she bounded with even more enthusiasm towards him, tugging Antonio behind her.

Stricken with fear and anticipation of the sickness Rome had brought upon him, Antonio tried once more to hold her back, but his weak body was overcome by hers.

“Spain” Rome greeted with a grin, “It’s been some time,” he glanced the boy up and down with a smirk, “I was expecting you to be bigger by now, but I suppose… each to their own.” He then diverted his attention quickly to Aidia, “And you must be Aidia,” he took her hand gently, “When I heard that Consus’ daughter was asking after him, I just had to come myself.”

Antonio watched as the corner of his smile tugged downward. “Your papà was a noble and brave man, and while we were not as close in his later years, I did hear of his death. He died peacefully after many years of service to our kingdom.”

So Consus was dead… Despite his irrational anger towards the man, Antonio did feel a swell of loss at this news. Even if he had inadvertently played a part in Marina’s death, he had been a good man, and one that had been ready to stand by her. Deep down, Antonio knew the grudge he held against the man had always been unwarranted, perhaps at least now the two of them would be together.

“I… I expected that might be the case,” Aidia bit her lip, “Thank you for coming all this way to tell me.” She took a deep breath, and then, for the first time focused on the man standing before her. “Hang on,” she glanced between him and Antonio, “Should you not be… older?”

“It’s flattering that you would say that,” Rome slipped easily back into his charm and humour, “considering how much I have aged since I was last here. But… I would take it that means Antonio hasn’t told you?”

Fixing his eyes on Rome imploringly, Antonio tried to turn his face to one that would be taken seriously, but Rome only smiled at him, he was going to tell Aidia everything.

“He needs to go!” Antonio had never presented himself before the ruling village council before, and he had certainly never made a demand of them, but this was urgent. “He cannot remain here! You all remember him from the years he spent here nearly two decades ago! He terrorised the village, he has to go!”

One look at the Council told him they were torn between the shock of being told what to do by a child, and fear at coming face-to-face with the immortal being everyone was so nervous of.

“But this cannot be the same man” one, particularly bold Council member pointed out, “although I agree, from my memories there is some similarities…”

Antonio shook his head viciously, “No, he’s like me! He doesn’t age, at least not like the rest of you, but you must make him leave.”

The Council exchanged uncertain glances, whispering among themselves before turning their gaze back to Antonio. “We will speak with him, inform him that should any of his old manners return… if he is the same man, then we will banish him from our village, but until then it is good to welcome guests from such a wealthy kingdom.”

They were fools. Antonio felt frustration tearing at his stomach and wished that he knew how to better express it, but, with no words left to say and the Council’s mind made up, he stormed from the hut.

Rome would leave eventually, he had to, his city would want him back. Antonio just had to be patient.


	10. Let History Repeat

Antonio made not secret of the fact that he did not like Rome’s presence. The older Nation was demanding, took what he pleased, and seemed to think very little of the impact it would have on others around him. Everything in life seemed to be one big party to him, a party that never ended.

But this was not the worst of it, this was by no means the worst of it. The most horrific part of Rome’s return was the infatuation Aidia had in him, the two would often disappear off for long walks in the evening, and Aidia had even had him round to dinner on one or two occasions.

However, as much damage as Rome seemed to do here, Antonio did not find himself weakening like he had last time.

Although he couldn’t quite explain how, he could feel strength being drawn from other settlements across the land, however much Rome damaged this one, he had others. But that did not alter his concern over Aidia, he was determined not to allow her to be corrupted like so many other women before her in the hands of this man.

But, since Rome had explained everything to her about what a Nation was, Aidia had been rather distant with him. She was angry that he hadn’t told her himself, convinced the reason had been because he didn’t trust her, however much he tried to persuade her this wasn’t the case.

He’d just wanted her safe, and he’d wanted her to lead a simple and uncomplicated life, where he could be a part of it, while not entirely consuming it as he’d done with Marina.

His conviction must have triggered something in him, or perhaps it was the awareness of more settlements, but Antonio found himself aging rather quickly over the next six months. He shed most of his baby-fat, his limbs lengthening and his face growing a little sharper. He was what some might call eleven or twelve-years-old now, but it still wasn’t enough to take on Rome.

From that point on, he did everything he could think of to grow further, but it seemed that his speedy aging process was finished for now, as his aging and growing came once more to an end.

There was only one option left to him, Aidia wouldn’t listen to him, The Council wouldn’t listen to him even though Rome had broken nearly all of their conditions, with the exception of actually breaking anything. There was only one person left to talk to.

Antonio found Rome stretched out on his back in one of the fields, his assigned work forgotten, as he took in the warmth of the late afternoon sun.

He kicked the shin of the older Nation to grab his attention, folding his arms as he tried to look fierce and imposing, something Antonio was learning he wasn’t particularly good at, but he was determined to try anyway.

“I would like you to leave” he put forward firmly, “You are not welcome in my lands, I want you to return back to your own kingdom.” This was fair, and he was being diplomatic. He wasn’t behaving like a child, and he made sure to look Rome in the eye when he spoke.

The other Nation had raised his head in a lazy fashion, flexing his shoulders against the ground. He studied Antonio for a few moments, brown eyes meeting green, before his mouth twitched into a smirk.

“And what if I don’t feel like leaving? What if I was to bring a group of my soldiers here and make your lands part of mine?” Rome propped himself up on his elbows, the grin fixated there. “What if I was to simply make you disappear altogether?”

Something cold burned within Antonio, something sickening, furious and terrified.

“You… You wouldn’t…”

“You don’t think I could?” Rome sat up very suddenly, his hand reaching out, as he seized the front of Antonio’s collar, tightening his hold around the material. “You don’t think I could burn your people to the ground with one little whistle back home?” He tapped the top of Antonio’s head with his free hand. “Do you know how many of my neighbours I’ve conquered, how many little Nations like you there were growing there? As soon as I assumed control they weakened, their bones became brittle, their eyes dulled, they were so weak they could not move. And, only when they begged me, did I put them out of their misery.”

The man released his collar, throwing him back.

“So, I think I’ll stay here a little longer, and just maybe if this place is hospitable enough, I’ll forget about invading it.”

He settled himself back down on the ground, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. “Now, run along little Spain, I have a siesta to fit in before dinner.”

Trembling, Antonio stayed where he was. He didn’t doubt that Rome still knew he was here, but the man also knew that Antonio wouldn’t bother him anymore. He couldn’t afford to do so, because he knew Rome was right. However, many settlements he now had, his lands were nothing against Rome’s, if Rome wanted to, he could take them, and, with a tight rumbling in his chest, Antonio knew that Rome would kill him without hesitation.

Until this moment he’d believed that nothing could kill a Nation, they were simply immortal beings, cursed to live forever. But this one conversation had completely changed this view. They were immortal beings, cursed to die at the hands of each other, unless they were strong enough to resist.

Rome stayed six more months before an urgent messenger arrived, demanding his immediate return.

Aidia was heartbroken, shutting herself away in her house, refusing to come out and say goodbye, Antonio assumed that they’d both said their goodbyes in private some time before this.

However, he was there to wish Rome on his way, shuffling uncertainly at the sheer number of armed men who had come to escort their Nation home.

“You…” He touched the small of Rome’s back hesitantly, “You won’t return?”

Rome grinned down at him with amusement, resting his hand down on Antonio’s hair, digging his fingers deep into his scalp, although it looked to all the world as if this was simply a fond goodbye.

“Not with soldiers, but I may see it fit to wander back on occasion to entertain myself, all your women are just so obliging.”

Trembling, Antonio held his tongue, waiting until Rome released him.

He would never be free of this man, never. He was like a demon, impossible to banish, however much Antonio tried.

But he’d been putting a lot of thought to this, and he had reached a decision, a decision Antonio felt he should have made a long time ago when Aidia was much younger.

As soon as the party of foreign soldiers and their Nation were gone, he raced to Aidia’s house, knocking heavily on the door. When there was no answer, he simply knocked again.

“Aidia it’s me, we have to talk. He’s gone now, but I have to talk to you!”

He waited, almost certain that the door was going to continue to remain closed. But, before he could knock again, the door creaked open, and Aidia’s tear streaked face peered around it.

Antonio’s heart clenched tightly, taking in her miserable appearance, taking note of the way Rome had pulled that youthful light and innocence from her, however compliant she might have seemed.

“We need to go.”

That was his decision. If Rome did ever return to this village then he wouldn’t find him here, and he certainly wouldn’t find Aidia here either. He was going to protect her, just as he’d vowed to do when she was born.

Aidia blinked at him, surprised, despite her distress. “What… what do you mean go?” She sniffed, her watery brown eyes settled uncertainly on him.

“Leave the village. I know you think highly of him, but I have to leave in case he comes back, but I know I can’t leave without you. Your mother was the most important person in my life, and I will never abandon you regardless of the danger to my own life.”

“Antonio slow down,” she shook her head, baffled, “What do you mean by ‘danger to your own life’?”

He didn’t want to tell her, he wanted to continue to shelter her from these harsh truths, but last time it had gotten him nothing but contempt. So, he told her of everything that had passed between him and Rome, of the threats and the truth of what had happened when he’d visited the village all those years ago.

When he was finished, Aidia opened the door, embracing him in a large and warm hug. She sobbed against his shoulder, crying until she had no tears or energy left, and it was only when the tears stopped she pulled back to look at him. “I’m… I’m pregnant.”

In many ways it was already too late, but Antonio was not about to give up. He wasn’t about to abandon her over something like that, even if the child she was carrying was Rome’s. Several of the people around Aidia’s own age in the village must also be descendants of the womanizing creature, and he held nothing against them. Although it would be difficult, he was determined that the same would be true of Aidia’s own child.

Even if they were half-Nation, it didn’t seem to of impacted their aging process, or given them any special abilities, and he was sure that Aidia’s child would be the same.

“My intention remains” he informed her, “We can still leave, he won’t be able to get at you or your child then, I’ll keep both of you safe, I promise.”

Aidia seemed unsure, but he could see the fear welling in her own eyes. Now she knew the truth, perhaps she was piecing together things Rome had said to her which perhaps had seemed odd but dismissible at the time, either way it seemed like she was bringing more into the story by herself, enough to certainly consider travelling away from her home and friends, while pregnant with only a small boy to protect her.

Of course, there was no reason to leave straight away, for a journey like this some care would have to be taken. They would need enough food to at least keep Aidia well fed until they found a more reasonable way of finding or catching further meals. While Antonio could technically do with very little food, he knew that the same would not be true of her, particularly while pregnant. They also needed other provisions such as blankets and cooking equipment.

Whatever business Rome had in Veich was keeping him away, hopefully giving them the time they needed to get away.

Two months later they were ready. They didn’t say a word to anyone else in the village, just in case they were somehow able to find away to direct Rome to them should he return, instead they simply snuck out in the middle of the night, walking down the dusty make-shift road that led out into the undiscovered wilderness.

Seven months after that, Aidia gave birth to a healthy baby girl she named Maria after her own mother.

Finally, Antonio felt like he was beginning to fulfil that promise, and, just as he expected Maria aged at the regular rate a baby should age.

They’d settled on the outskirts of another village, although the plan was only to stay here until Maria was old enough to travel. It was warm enough to sleep under the stars most nights, and, when it was too cold for that, they’d take shelter in a nearby cave. In the mornings Antonio would go out, catch fish, and collect wild growing fruit to bring back for meals.

He watched with pride as Maria grew, taking her first steps and claiming her first words with stubborn purpose and a cheeky smile. She was by far one of the happiest children Antonio had ever met in his life. Maria had taken after her father in terms of her looks though, her brown hair was paler than Aidia’s and slightly wavy, with shimmering golden-brown eyes. Perhaps most curiously though was the little single curl of hair that sprang out from the middle of her hair, jutting out before circling back in on itself.

But she was different to Rome. Even at the age of five, when the three of them began to travel again, it was very clear she didn’t have a selfish bone in her body. She was unapologetically generous to everyone they met, almost to the point where Antonio worried she was going to get herself into trouble. She smiled, danced, and even sang along to her own little tunes as they walked.

But, like most, she was not without her vices. Maria scared very easily, when she wasn’t swept up in her own naivety, and as soon as she got tired, everyone knew about it.

“Carry me Antonio” she’d weap, “Mamá my feet hurt” she’d cry out.

And of course, Antonio and Aidia always indulged her.

They made an odd family, but that was what Antonio thought of them as. They were a family, a family of travellers exploring this new land. It was rather exciting to think of them like that, as while it may have sounded fairly dramatic to a lot of people, to Antonio it breathed of normality.

Of course, he was careful that they didn’t become a tale or story passed around between the villages, Rome would latch onto that for sure. They kept themselves to themselves and avoided the people in the villages themselves as much as possible.

The years passed, and, by the time Maria was sixteen, Aidia told Antonio they had a problem.

She told him that it simply wasn’t healthy for a girl of her age to be moving around all the time with no friends of her own, they would have to stop somewhere and settle. She was hopeful by now that Rome would have lost interest. Antonio highly doubted that, but he knew he couldn’t argue, Aidia had made up her mind, and unless he wanted to travel alone, that was what they were doing.

And as they settled, and Antonio watched Maria giggling along with a boy she’d met while working out on the fields, it occurred to him how repetitive human lives could be.

He’d watched Marina fall in love, have a child, and in turn watched that child grow up, fall at least into a lust, and have a child, and now, it was going to happen all over again.

Perhaps his duty would be done then. Neither Maria or her own future off-spring knew Maria, in fact, Aidia herself had never known her mother, Antonio was the only one around who could still remember her.

He doubted Rome would have any interest in this family any longer, and they seemed to be happily settled here.

A few more years he told himself, and then it would be time to go.


	11. Hetalia

The next year dragged by. Maria and Aidia had settled in comfortably as a part of the village, Maria now being settled with one of the young men here, and Aidia with a group of friends and neighbours.

Antonio was happy for them, and he was pleased to see Maria expecting. But this wasn’t his family anymore. He’d kept the promise he’d made to Marina as her body was taken away, he’d done his best to keep her family safe, and finally he’d succeeded.

Soon she would be a great-grandmother, and any implication Rome or Consus had in their lives would pass.

By the month Antonio knew he was getting stronger, even if he still had yet to make another leap in his aging process. He’d been introduced to the village as Maria’s younger brother, which he might be able to pull off for another year until people started to become suspicious.

He’d already informed Aidia and Maria of his plan to leave once the new baby was born. They accepted this so easily that Antonio wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved or hurt by their reaction. But the truth was, he was a part of Aidia’s life she wanted to leave behind, and to Maria he wasn’t a particularly notable part of it at all, just that weird family friend that was along for the trip.

Maria’s due date was growing closer and closer, Aidia was certain that it would be any day now, and so, Antonio made himself ready for the journey ahead, packing the few and little items he still owned, as well as a water satchel and cooking appliances. It should be enough to sustain him until he could figure out what it was he was supposed to be doing with this infinitely long life he possessed.

Perhaps he was worrying about things to much, maybe he should really just be taking his time with all of this. After all, the people of this land seemed to be managing just fine on their own at the moment, if anything he was more reliant on their diligence and passion to support him. One day, perhaps when he was older he’d be able to really do something to return all their efforts, but until then he would learn what he could.

But, that was when the weird dreams started.

On rare occasion, many years ago when Marina and Consus had still been alive, Antonio had sometimes heard Rome talking vaguely about a tree he visited in his dreams, a tree surrounded by a meadow spreading in each and every direction. And, just once, he’d told Antonio that when he was younger and still able to spend time in this place, that he’d played with four other children. He did not know their names and could barely remember their faces, but he was confident that they were Nations like himself.

Antonio himself had never visited this dream world, or at least he hadn’t, until that week, when he found himself drawn their every night without fail.

It was just as Rome had described it to him.

The grass here extended up to the sky, and even with the boost in height being twelve-years-old gave him, Antonio could still only just about see over the top of it. The tree however, was an obvious sight, standing tall at what seemed to be the very centre, its long branches extending out further, and like no natural tree would do.

Not sure quite what to expect, Antonio made his way over to it, reaching out a tentative hand to touch the thick bark of the trunk. There was no one else here, he was completely alone, any other children that had once visited this place, clearly had outgrown it.

From what Rome had told him, Antonio had an inkling that he was one of the youngest, if not the youngest Nation. He hadn’t been a part of the generation Rome had described himself and his old playmates being a part of, and he was not part of the older generation Consus had told him existed.

Rome had also told him rather unkindly once, that he’d never met the smaller surrounding Nations there either, and perhaps only those Nations with great purpose or power were permitted to visit this sacred place. Therefore, Antonio’s absence simply meant that he wasn’t special enough to be included.

But, here he was now. Completely and entirely alone.

On the second night he visited, he hoped that there might be someone else, and he didn’t lose hope on the third night either. It was on the fourth night, as he arrived back in the familiar setting that a tight knot began to sharpen in his stomach.

“Is this what you’re trying to tell me?” He asked dejectedly, unsure whom he was addressing, and whether or not they could hear him. “I’m alone? I’ll always be alone?”

It was something he’d already started to accept, why it had to be rubbed in his face, Antonio did not understand.

But if there was someone out there, some grand master behind all of this, then they didn’t make themselves known to him.

So, by the fifth night Antonio just set about entertaining himself, pulling out blades of grass to fashion into whistles. It wasn’t a bad place to dream in, even if he was alone here, it was a feeling he’d already grown accustomed to, and he was sure that he’d continue to get used to.

Then, finally on the sixth night something happened. It happened suddenly, and with very little warning.

Antonio had been relaxing against the bank of the hill the tree was supported by, enjoying the simple and pleasant feeling of the cool breeze, when the world around him was suddenly filled with a light so blinding, that every instinct in the young boy seized up, causing him to freeze in bewildered panic.

The shimmering whiteness lasted only a few terrifying seconds, before sweeping back into itself in one giant powerful movement, vanishing completely as it swallowed itself into the invisible folds of the air.

“What…” Antonio blinked, his vision returning to him as he sat up quickly. Having recovered from the shock, he was now sitting bolt upright, alert for any potential danger that flash might have resulted in.

There was no danger though, and for a few minutes longer Antonio was left in baffled confusion. It was only just as he was beginning to relax again, that the sound of a baby’s crying disturbed him.

He stood up, head turning quickly. There was someone else here…

Looking both to the left and right, he shook his head. No. There were two others here. Two cries echoing back at him from the fields, he had no idea where they were, but there were definitely two distinctive noises.

He wasn’t alone.

Antonio had to process that thought once more, before he truly felt the weight of it. He wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t alone!

What did he even say in a situation like this? Could he even say it to anyone? The crying of one of the babies had stopped, but the other was still bawling its head off like nobody’s business.

“Where are you?” Jumping down from his perch on the mound, Antonio began sweeping through the grass in search of the one that was still crying, doing his best to follow the sound, while being cautious of the fact that the owner of the voice was probably so small he might step on them by accident.

Who were they? Boy or girl? Which country did they, or would they represent?

“My new mission” he grinned, as he realised at last that this place had brought him here to give him purpose. His new mission was to find these two new Nations, maybe even teach them who they were, help to guide them. He could feel the dream beginning to fade, he would not find either child tonight, but that didn’t bother him, because he knew that he would find them one day.

“It’s okay!” He yelled out, “Just give me some time, I’ll find you okay!”

The babies probably didn’t understand, but he hoped his voice might be familiar to them when they finally met. Perhaps he’d even be able to come back here and speak with them when they were older, ask about what part of the world they came from.

His excitement was still coursing through his blood when he awoke, leaving him numb and disconnected from the panic occurring around him in the small house he shared with Aidia.

It must have swayed there in bed, lost in a daze for nearly five minutes, before Aidia’s yelling caught his attention. She was gathering up blankets from the house, his own included and thrusting them into the arms of Sebastián, Maria’s husband who was waiting outside.

“What’s happening?” He blinked, his senses starting to tune in fully to the waking world.

In the distance he heard what sounded like a scream, followed by a bright flaring light brightening the night sky outside the window of the house.

“The village is under attack.” Aidia stepped back into the house, beginning to pack as much food as she could carry into her satchel.

Under attack?

Antonio slipped out of bed. He knew he was supposed to react, but the whole situation had him confused. Who was attacking them? Why were they being attacked? He knew these were not questions he should really be asking right now, but he couldn’t help but feel them swelling to the top of his mind.

“Come on!” Aidia practically seized him around his upper arm, throwing him from the bed towards the door.

The movement was rough, and Antonio found himself rubbing at his arm with offence, but Aidia was in too much of a state to care, as she pushed him on assertively.

Sebastián wasn’t here, but as they were heading in the direction of Maria’s house, he guessed that he’d gone back to get her.

As they burst out into the chaos, Antonio’s mind finally sharpened, as he pulled Aidia back into the shadows quickly, to avoid being caught in the path of three fleeing villagers being perused by two men dressed in rather familiar looking armour.

“Mierda!” He heard Aidia curse, and he knew why. These were Rome’s men… he’d tracked them down, that’s why his soldiers were here. He was here to carry out that threat, the one he’d promised… he was going to burn his country to the ground, destroy him before he’d even had a chance to meet those two new Nations…

Antonio stopped, watching as Aidia sprinted towards Maria and Sebastián’s house. This was the end. Suddenly he felt the weight of how truly short his life had been. It may have felt long in years, but in that time, he’d accomplished nothing, he was still simply a child. A young Nation that would never flourish.

He slipped down the wall behind him, heart pounding heavily in his chest. He was going to die. It was better to be resigned to that fact now, than to try and run, maybe this way he’d be able to limit the suffering just a little.

But, as Antonio’s mind circled in panic, he discovered a small voice fighting back against that resignation. A small voice that began to grow louder the longer he listened to it.

Fight back! That was what the voice told him.

He wasn’t a small Nation like the others Rome had crushed.

And, most importantly he wasn’t alone anymore. He was a part of a new generation, one that surpassed Rome, and it would grow, and Antonio was determined to facilitate that. He would live.

There were more soldiers coming. They were kicking down doors, searching houses, they would find Aidia and her daughter.

Reaching along the ground blindly, Antonio found a weapon. A blunt and heavy-set stone, it was hardly a sword, but then again, what was a sword to him.

Bursting from his hiding place, Antonio launched himself at the soldiers.

Predictably, one of them struck out with his sword, hitting Antonio with expert precision right in the chest. But, just as he’d seen it do with Rome decades ago, the metal shattered like glass on impact, sending a spray of sharp shards flying back at the soldiers. They screamed with shock, one of them falling to the ground, clutching his face.

They were frightened, they’d fall back now.

Antonio felt the weight of the stone in his hand, hesitating, as the soldiers surveyed him warily.

If he let them go then they’d tell Rome where he was.

Moving, before he could think any further, Antonio struck the man still standing as heavily as he could, forcing him to the ground. He knew if he allowed himself a moment to think about this then he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Closing his eyes, Antonio struck down twice, before jumping over to the next man, who was already crying on his hands and knees, blinded by the shards that had impaled his eyes. He struck the second man with a more precise blow, there was no need to hit him twice.

Panting, Antonio opened his eyes. His heart, which had already been racing, now felt like it was about to burst through his bones and skin, threatening to come lose with a painful insistence.

The metallic wreak of blood swelled down his throat and nose.

He wretched, leaning to the side as he lost the contents of whatever there was still in his stomach, noticing for the first time that his hands and the lower parts of his arms were stained in blood so thick it appeared almost black in the moonlight.

He gasped, certain for a few moments he was going to throw up again, but it seemed like his stomach had nothing more to give.

Dropping the stone, he scrambled back from the two bodies, looking around wildly.

Aidia had pulled him out of bed in such a hurry that he was still in rather a state of undress, clad only in the thin sleeping trousers he wore while in bed. The weather was still so warm, there was no need for anything else.

But, as indestructible as he was, Antonio couldn’t help but feel rather vulnerable out here without the rest of his clothes.

Still trembling, he climbed unsteadily back to his feet, and hurried over to the house. More soldiers would be here soon, they had to leave before they arrived and found their fallen comrades.

“Aidia, we need to…”

He pulled his way into the house and froze.

Maria was lying on the ground, blooding pooling around her hips, as Aidia held her hand tightly, urging her to continue pushing, while Sebastián, white in the face simply stood there, the blankets still draped over his arms.

This wasn’t good.

Antonio’s mind flittered back to his final memories of Marina, her bed soiled with blood.

Maria was going to die.

Even if there was something they could do, they wouldn’t be able to do it while the village burned around them.

He knew that Sebastián and Aidia would not leave her, however dark her case was. But he could not afford to let Rome find him, and Antonio was certain now that the older Nation was here. He could feel his presence like a violation deep within his skin, almost able to feel the other’s movements as the hairs along his arms twitch and crawled uncomfortably.

He couldn’t wait. He had no choice. Their fate was their own now.

Antonio was part way through the door when a sudden cry caused his rapidly beating heart to stop, even if only for a fraction of a second.

He turned, eyes fixed on the new born in Aidia’s arms. He was tiny, red in the face with the effort of his massive temper tantrum, with a mess of dark brown hair, complimented with a tiny single haired curl.

The sound of the crying mirrored the exact sound he’d heard ring out in his dream. This, this was another Nation, someone like him.

The first baby’s crying was soon followed by another, although this second child quietened faster to a soft whine and hiccup.

Save for the second boy’s slightly paler hair, the two were virtually identical.

Twin Nations? Who had ever heard of such a thing?

Well, Antonio had hardly heard of any other Nations, so did that really matter?

Aidia held out the first boy for Sebastián to take, but the man remained frozen in place, his eyes still fixed on the pale form of his wife. Antonio stepped forward instead, taking the small screaming child from Aidia’s arms, running his hand very gently through the bawling infant’s hair as he supported his head.

“It’s okay little one” he whispered with a smile, “I’ve got you.”

For just a moment the crying stopped, and the baby looked at him, mouth tightening into a firm looking pout. He hiccupped once, then started crying again.

The arrival of the twins had distracted him, and it was only the noise of the house next door being broken into that reminded them all of the danger they were in.

There was no time at all to give out a warning, with the boy held tightly in his arms, Antonio flung open one of the cupboards, laying him down inside.

“You have to be quiet” he told the child, who stopped crying immediately, “Please, stay quiet.”

He closed the doors, making a lunge for the younger twin, but it was already too late. The house filled with soldiers, one of which took a swing for Sebastián who managed to avoid the lunge and flee further to the back of the house.

If Maria had been alive when the soldiers had entered, she certainly wasn’t any more. Antonio could hear Aidia sobbing behind him, cradling her grandson tightly in her arms as she did so.

It was up to him to keep them safe.

Antonio rose to his feet, ready to attack, when the soldiers parted, and, down the aisle they had created, walked Rome. He did not look at all surprised to see Aidia or Antonio here, although his eyes did flicker uncertainly towards the dead girl splayed out on the floor.

“Leave.” It took all his courage, but Antonio found his voice, “I want you to leave!”

Rome’s eyes flickered back to him, his mouth turned up in a sneer. “You’re repeating yourself little Spain,” he reached a hand forward, shoving Antonio aside with ease, as he passed by, heading straight for Aidia.

“No!” Antonio lunged himself forward again, biting down on the arm of the shoulder who tried to restrain him, seizing Rome’s cloak, as he tried to hold him back.

Why wasn’t Aidia running? Why was she just sitting there?

“Antonio stop.”

He stopped, releasing the cloak and staring at the woman in shock.

“But he’s…”

Aidia looked up at Rome, her brown eyes wide and defiant, “You’re going to kill me.” It was a statement not a question.

Rome drew his sword and nodded, “Yes, I am.”

His eyes flickered towards the child in her arms, “Is that… my grandson?”

Antonio’s stomach turned, and he wanted to snarl that no child in this house had any connection that mattered to the invading tyrant, but he held his tongue for Aidia’s sake.

She nodded.

Rome reached forward, he was asking for the child.

And, as Aidia began to extend her arms forward, Antonio found he was no longer able to obey, as he once more tried to intervene, sprinting between the two of them.

He met Rome’s cool brown gaze and held it. The Nation that had previously looked at him with patronizing regard hesitated, and for the first time Antonio saw something new there, curiosity? Interest? Wariness? The look flickered, before Rome drew back his hand, striking Antonio heavily around the face.

The force sent him colliding with the cupboard where the other baby was hidden, and for one, terrifying moment Antonio thought he’d cry out. But, the older twin remained completely silent, despite the shock he must have had when his container shifted.

By the time Antonio had recovered, Rome had the baby held securely in his arms, studying him with an almost gentle stare. The child mumbled, then batted a tiny fist at Rome’s face, causing the man to smile.

“I think I will give him the name Feliciano” Rome grinned, “So many Nations seem to think they need human names, so why not give him one?” He looked around at his soldiers, none of this was being directed at Aidia, who was now clutching the hand of her dead daughter.

“He’s like us!” Antonio knew he had to speak, whatever Rome was about to do, he had to know that first. “The baby… he’s like us…”

Rome shifted uncertainly, still cradling Feliciano in his arms as he focused in on Antonio once more, “How do you know that?”

“I heard… I heard him cry out in a dream… a dream I had of a huge tree surrounded by a meadow.”

Rome’s ordinarily warm cheeks paled, his chest swelling and the lump in his throat twitching.

He took a breath, smiled softly and emitted a small acknowledging “Oh,” before running Aidia through with his sword, Feliciano balanced on his other gigantic arm.

Antonio turned away as he heard Aidia gasp, his fist tightening.

There was nothing he could do. Rome would take Feliciano, but there was still another child he could protect, he had to accept what little he could actually achieve.

It seemed like Rome was satisfied with the prize he was carrying away, because he issued a sharp order to his men, informing them that they were to begin the journey home, taking what little this primitive village had of any value with them.

Antonio remained silent, watching them leave, his eyes drawn to Feliciano’s face as Rome carried him from the house and out of sight.

He’d see the boy again one day, Antonio would make sure of it.

He waited a good five minutes after Rome and his men had left before running back to the cupboard to recover the older twin, who immediately started howling again, waving his tiny fists in the air.

“I’m so sorry little one” Antonio apologised, “Your brother… there was nothing I could do.” He shook his head, “But you’re here, and I’ll…”

“Give him to me…”

Antonio looked up, terrified for one nerve-wracking moment that Rome had returned, but when his green eyes met the face of the man baring down on him and the baby, he recognised Sebastián.

Tightening his grip, Antonio held the baby closer to his body.

“You don’t understand he’s not like you, he’s…”

“I don’t care what he is, or what you are. He’s all that’s left of my family, you give him here right now!”

He couldn’t.

He’d wanted to be with someone of his own kind for so long. Not a brutish monster like Rome, but someone like him; someone he could teach to be like him; someone he could care for and guide on their path; someone, who, like him, would never die.

“I said give him here!” Sebastián dived forward, jerking the baby so heavily, that if he’d been normal the shift would have snapped his neck for sure.

“Stop it!” Antonio snapped, resisting, “You’ll hurt him!”

The dark-haired child had stopped crying again, although his eyes were damp with confused tears.

If he resisted then he was sure that Sebastián would hurt the child, and Antonio had no idea how much even a baby Nation could take. He couldn’t get away, Sebastián would outpace him on his longer legs.

Once more Antonio found himself presented with no choice.

“Lovino” he whispered, pressing his nose against the baby’s head, “That’s his name.”

When the older man reached down to take the baby again, Antonio did not resist, however much Lovino seemed to reach out towards him.

“I’ll call him what I like” Sebastián growled, “Now, get out of my house. I want you gone from here, I want you gone from the village.” The man’s voice was taught with emotion, “If you aren’t gone by the morning then I’ll tell the whole village you brought those soldiers here, I’ll tell them you’re the reason so many of their loved ones are dead.”

Antonio’s lip curled furiously, but he stood up and nodded.

“I’ll see you again Lovino,” his eyes flickered back to Sebastián’s with absolute contempt, “You’ll outlive this coward.”

He then swivelled on his heel and left.

This failure tonight had only solidified what he already knew. He could no longer be Antonio if he wanted to protect the ones he needed to keep safe, if he was to become a force big enough to stand up to Rome and anyone else who tried to tell him what to do, or hurt him, then he would have to become Spain.


	12. Olympia

**770 BC – The First Olympic Games**

 

Never before had Greece seen a crowd of this size, and, despite his status and importance he still found himself struggling on the tips of his toes to see over the many adults that had swarmed across the view in front of him, cheering on the various athletes from their towns and villages.

His mother was nearby, resting on a well-guarded platform, where Greece also knew he’d be welcome. But, just for once, he wanted to experience what life was actually like being one of the people.

But, if he was going to miss the whole competition because he was stuck down here, then he might rethink that plan and return to his sheltered viewing platform instead. Making an experimental point just wasn’t worth missing this amazing event, who knew if they’d ever be able to pull it off again.

For a few moments he imagined what it would be like to be older than five, to be tall and lanky like some of the other boys standing in the crowd, able to climb up the pillars that marked the area, so he could get a better look.

Greece knew that Nations aged, he’d been introduced to so many over the past few centuries, and he’d seen how they’d gotten older and integrated themselves into the governments of their lands, just like his mother had done.

None however, was more impressive than Rome. Although Greece had never told his mother of the meadow and the tree at its centre, he recognised Rome had one of the children that had used to play there, the same way he’d also recognised the younger Egypt when they’d been introduced. Rome however, was no longer a child. He stood at an impressive six foot, with all the power and grace of somebody who was both very impressive, and very dangerous.

The other Nation had even acquired his own ward, a grandson he introduced them to as Italy, although he occasionally referred to the tiny child as Feliciano.

Italy was one of the few Nations that made Greece feel better about himself. While Greece may still be only five-years-old, Italy hadn’t progressed past the toddler stage in centuries. At least Greece could say he was progressing more swiftly than that.

Rome was here today as well, most likely set up in one of the other viewing platforms, and, if previous encounters were anything to go by, he was probably far too wrapped up playing with his grandson than actually watching the events.

Egypt and his mother were also here, and while Greece had offered Egypt the chance to walk around the crowd with him, the other boy had shyly refused.

There were only two Nations that he knew to be missing.

One was Germania, but there was no surprise there. He was also the same age as Greece, Egypt and Rome, although he presented to the world a youngish man, almost the same age as Rome himself. But, he was a Savage, living only for war and battle, too wild to find solace in philosophy and art, like the rest of them had. It was unlikely that he’d been invited, and even if he had been, he probably wouldn’t have come.

The other was Turkey.

Greece felt a small twitch in his chest as he thought of the other Nation and how long it had been since they’d last seen one another. It had to have been that faithful night he’d escaped from his mother’s palace though.

After that, his mother had insisted that they would have nothing to do with him. He had not been allowed to visit the other Nation’s lands, and Turkey had never been invited to theirs, although Greece was able to hear rumours on occasion that gave him a vague idea of what was happening.

From what he knew Turkey was now recognised as a Nation by the ruling classes of his land, Greece knew from the men that talked that he was supposed a very accomplished warrior, and he knew from the women that talked that he was growing to be a rather handsome looking man. Of course, in regard to Turkey’s looks and swordsmanship, Greece didn’t particularly care, if anything he couldn’t help but feel rather jealous though of everything else.

It sounded like Turkey had managed to age again, and he was now the singular recognised Nation of his kingdoms, he didn’t have a mother telling him what to do.

Greece kept his expression straight and neutral, but internally he could feel a strong desire to pout. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t leave his mother, he wasn’t like Turkey, with his own country to rule over, and at the same time he wasn’t sure he wanted to. However, controlling his mother sometimes felt, he did love her, and he trusted her to know what was best for him.

“…I'm looking for a small boy, brown hair, with a sort of curl at the top?”

Greece spun around, as he heard his appearance being described, his green eyes scanning the crowds around him for any sign of the individual who appeared to be looking for him.

“Might be about this big? Yes? No?”

He pushed his way through the crowd towards the voice, and, when he finally found his owner he knew him immediately.

They were settled in their early teens, fourteen seemed the most likely guess. Turkey’s limbs were now long and gangly, something his tall appearance still didn’t quite make up for, as he continued to look around, that ridiculous white mask still flush against his face, distorting the emotion of his eyes.

“Sadiq?” For just one moment he completely forgot that they weren’t supposed to use human names.

Turkey straightened up and turned towards him, a wide grin spreading across his lips. “Well there’s only one Nation that would call me that,” he practically pushed his way over, pulling Greece into a tight hug, before pulling back to ruffle his already scruffy hair.

“Well I see you haven’t grown much” he teased, “Still with your mama then?”

Frowning, Greece nodded. He wasn’t going to allow Turkey to patronise him over that, and thankfully the other Nation seemed to get the message, because he didn’t say anything further about it.

“How have you been?” He asked instead, “You and your mama seem to have been doing rather well for yourselves. Some reckon that you’re probably the most powerful Nations at the moment,” his lip twitched a little, but this time it was not in the form of a smile, as he gazed out across the crowd.

Greece followed his gaze and realised that he was looking at Rome, who, as Greece had predicted was on the ground trying to encourage his grandson to walk, completely ignoring the hundred-meter sprinters.

“Watch out for that one though, there are rumours about him.” Turkey’s fist tightened, “about the way he slaughters his neighbours to take their lands.”

“Slaughters? But I thought a Nation couldn’t be killed.” This was news to Greece, no one had told him anything about this, and surely mother wouldn’t welcome a killer into her lands.

But Turkey shook his head, “A Nation lives through its people and cultures, if you destroy those, assimilate them into your own then a Nation weakens to a point where all that’s left is to deliver the finishing blow.” The olive-skinned Nation’s mouth was drawn into a tight line, his gaze still fixated on Rome through the crowd.

There was an uncomfortable sick feeling that had rooted itself at the base of Greece’s stomach. Even if this was true… maybe it was an accident? Perhaps Rome was just so popular that people in even the neighbouring countries wanted to be a part of him.

He was nothing but polite and entertaining when he visited him and his mother here, Greece couldn’t believe for a moment that the man would ever wish them harm.

No. Turkey must be mistaken.

However, Greece didn’t see any point in arguing this, because Turkey had already broken his gaze and was dragging him through the crowd of people to where one of the stalls had been set up.

The Olympics seemed to have attracted a lot of attention from merchants who were peddling their wares all over the place, the most successful doing so when they presented their items or food with a sporting twist or insisted that all the athletes thought that their products were the best.

Turkey bought them both some cheap street food, that his mother would have heavily frowned upon, but as it had been bought for him, and Greece didn’t want to be rude, he ate it anyway.

“Does my mamá know you’re here?” As he licked his fingers clean, Greece glanced at Turkey out of the side of his eyes.

Nations stood out fairly clearly, particularly the likes of Turkey with his exotic eastern clothes and the white mask fixed across his face. If his mother didn’t know Turkey was here, then she soon would do.

Turkey hummed to himself and shrugged. “Well I noticed my invitation didn’t arrive, and thought as it was obviously a mistake, that I’d turn up anyway,” he laughed, patting Greece’s head again. “What can she do? She invited some of my rulers here, she can’t exactly turn around and tell them that they’re welcome, but their Nation isn’t.”

This was a good point.

His mother wasn’t stupid, she knew she had to make friends with their neighbours to keep the borders safe, and that included the sultans from Turkey’s side of the border.

“I have to give it to her though, this is quite an event,” he smiled, and Greece saw with satisfaction that Turkey was jealous of all of this. “Perhaps next time people from the other kingdoms outside of your lands might be able to compete. Imagine that, one competition with more than three lands all competing.”

“That would take a lot of organisation.”

“Could be worth it though” the taller Nation told him, “Healthy competition like this is a good way to promote peace. Helps your men see the men of other lands as something they can relate to.”

“Why would that make a difference?” Greece tilted his head, mulling Turkey’s words over thoughtfully, the older Nation didn’t reply though, instead allowing Greece to mull through the thought until he reached his own conclusion. “Because in order to kill each other they have to see the other as less of a human being?”

Turkey nodded.

“But who knows if ever lasting peace is even possible. Everything in the east may be calm for now, but in the west and north… Germania isn’t much better than Rome from what I know. You just make sure that you and your mama watch yourselves okay?”

At the young age he was, Greece wasn’t sure exactly what he could do to convince his mother that Rome might be a danger, or to protect her if he did turn out to be. But he nodded anyway, hoping that the knowledge itself might somehow help him to remain prepared.

“These other Nations?” He couldn’t help but ask, “The ones Rome has supposedly killed, why have I never met them?”

Greece had been under the impression that the only Nations that existed were the ones that he’d met, but now Turkey seemed to be suggesting that there were countless others.

The other boy shrugged. “I don’t know exactly” he replied, “But the other Nations are not like us… They are ‘Nations’, but they’re weaker more unsteady.” He crouched down so that the two of them were at eye level. “You remember The Tree?”

Greece didn’t need to ask which tree he was referring to, to understand. He nodded.

“You see I have this theory that those we played with by the tree are special in some way. We’re the ones that like the tree will grow and spread our branches across the world. We will only get stronger, while many others are fated to be overshadowed.”

Frowning uncertainly at this, Greece studied Turkey’s eyes to make sure he was being serious. Surely that was a rather arrogant point of view.

“Think about it, there were five of us. You, me, Rome, Germania and the younger Egypt. Rome and Germania’s lands grow in size each year, you and Egypt are basking in the rising glories of your cultures…”

“And you?” Greece cut across, eyeing Turkey carefully.

“I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.” That smile was back, although this time Greece didn’t feel like even entertaining the thought of returning it.

Although he knew there was no threat to Turkey’s tone or words, there was something rather sinister about it, that Greece preferred not to think on. It seemed to suggest that this era of peace would come to an end, and in its place, there would only be violence and war. That he and his mother would one day become the same beast Germania was.

He had to be wrong. Turkey couldn’t be right on this. He had no evidence, no reasoning, just a theory he’d plucked from the air. It proved nothing.


	13. The War Begins

**497 BC – The start of the Persian wars (Involved the area now known as Turkey)**

 

It had been about a hundred years since Greece and his mother had moved in officially with the Athenian Royal Family, being offered quarters in their palace. Although his mother had been reluctant, she’d told him that it was what all the Nations were doing now, and that it made sense to be a closer sphere of influence.

Having already felt rather restricted when living with his mother in their own palace, Greece found these new arrangements suffocating. He couldn’t go anywhere without being questioned or watched and leaving the palace unaccompanied was absolutely impossible.

Normally the palace was a busy swell of activity, diplomats, philosophers and political advisers dashing all over the place, paper trails billowing out behind them. But today there was only silence, the air lying think and stagnant, tense, and waiting.

Something was happening. His mother had been in meetings for the last week, he had barely seen her at all, and when he did she was too tired or stressed to really speak with him properly.

There was another reason he didn’t like the palace, and why he felt the chains of it so acutely as they entwined their way around his body. This had been his home many, many centuries ago, and the testament to that still stood here, carved in stone for all the world to see.

A statue dedicated to Helen of Troy: ‘The face that launched a thousand ships’, had been erected many years ago in the flower garden, and in her arms, immortalised in the marble was a baby, a mess of hair on its head, topped with a familiar singular curl.

Greece fingered the curl in his own hair as he looked up at it.

Those memories, it had all been so long ago. Another life time, one that now felt separate and alien from his own.

He’d been found, so he’d been told, on the dusty broken road on the way back from the siege of Troy, a battle of such epic proportions that tales of it had become legendary, with embellishments and exaggerations, so that even Greece himself had difficulty remembering what had been true, and what wasn’t.

War.

It wasn’t that battles didn’t happen, in fact they happened fairly frequently between the Greek Kingdoms, but something about it all felt different now. The battles in the Greek Kingdoms neither empowered or weakened him and his mother, they were simply a way of life and their culture.

But in the last few months that word had been used with a different tone, as people moved grim faced through the palace halls.

They didn’t speak of the valour and heroism, instead they spoke of invasion, violence and slaughter.

In the last hundred years, Greece had gone through rather a growth spirt, and he figured his determination had reached its breaking point once the Persian Empire had begun growing so rapidly. He was determined that Turkey would not leave him behind, and so he had managed to force himself to age a few more years, until he sat comfortably at the age of ten.

Suddenly the door nearest to him was thrown open, and a man hurried out, a heavy set of scrolls bundled under one arm.

“What’s happening?” Greece knew if he didn’t ask someone then he’d probably never know. His mother told him nothing, and he was considered too young to attend the meetings, despite the fact he’d been alive for well over half a millennium now. Turkey, Rome and Germania probably weren’t told they were too young. He didn’t know about Egypt, but he hoped the other young-looking Nation was suffering as much as him.

The man paused, glancing quickly at Greece with uncertainty.

“We’re at war” he sighed, evidently deciding that this was not a secret that would be kept from the young Nation much longer.

There was that word again, spoken in that way that everyone had been saying it recently.

“With Persia” the diplomat added, “They’ve invaded Ionia.”

Greece blinked, dumbfounded and silent, his mind only just processing the diplomat’s departure as he ran on down the steps and through the garden.

Turkey had attacked them? Why would he do that?

Even though it had been a great many years ago, Greece still remembered their conversation about the inevitability of war. But Turkey had spoken of it like it was something he wished for Greece to avoid, or certainly remain safe from, and yet, here he was, pulling land away from him.

Although the young Nation’s mouth didn’t move, his eyes widened. That wasn’t all that Turkey had told him that day. Nations, they could be killed, and the way to do it, was to take their land from them, weaken them until a simple human sword would be enough splinter their bodies.

Was that what Turkey intended to do to him? To his mother?

He shook his head, this couldn’t be right.

The diplomat had said that ‘Persia’ had attacked them. The exact land that Turkey himself controlled, and the influence he had over it was uncertain, so perhaps he didn’t have anything to do with this.

It was a hopeful thought, but not one that Greece himself completely believed.

The doors opened again, and this time a whole crowd of people burst through them, all talking loudly and angrily, completely oblivious to the young boy’s presence. Greece had to jump to the side to avoid being trampled by all of them, trying to catch what little pieces he could out of the conversations.

Then, finally his mother and their head statesman left the room. They were not speaking, but both looked very angry and defiant.

“What do they mean Persia’s invaded Ionia?” His mother would have a better understanding, she always seemed to know what was happening in their lands, certainly if another Nation set foot within it.

Her green-eyed gaze flickered towards him. His mother’s face was hard, and her beautiful face was marred with a deep frown.

“It means that Persia has marched an army into one of our Regions and claimed it as their own, appointing their own rulers and subjugating our people,” she turned sharply on her heel, pointing in the direction of their wing of the palace. “I should have dealt with that boy when I had the chance,” this last part was muttered so low that Greece wasn’t sure he was supposed to have heard it.

So, Turkey was involved… his mother surely wouldn’t say that if he wasn’t.

While his mother had disappeared down the hall, the head Statesman remained, shaking his head slowly.

“We never imagined that Persia would do such a thing” he explained with a sigh, “We believed that they would respect our borders just as we respected theirs. But with their Empire pushing westwards, we have no choice but to face them with all our strength.” He motioned out to the garden where many of the other men had passed by, “I have sent out all my diplomats to the other Greek rulers to form an alliance, we must stand as one if we are to save our beautiful lands from invasion.”

His gaze turned to Greece with a deeper intensity. “It would be inappropriate to ask your mother to fight, she is a woman after all, and we are not savages. However, we must assume that Persia’s own Nation will be on the battlefield, so I must ask of you something I would never normally ask of a child.”

Greece straightened up, trying to look as tall and important as he could manage.

If he was needed, then he would act. Finally, he had the chance to prove he wasn’t the child he appeared to be. His people were relying on him, because finally there was something he could do that his mother could not.

“I have spoken with your mother about the idea, and she does not like it, but I made the case that you should be the one to make that decision.” A hand rested on Greece’s shoulder, as the man looked him in the eye like an equal, “Will you fight alongside us?”

This was the question Greece had assumed would be coming, and he already had his answer, nodding firmly in response.

He wasn’t afraid. Even if he were to face Turkey on the battlefield, a part of him still felt confident that his old friend would not harm him. He needed answers though, he had to understand what was happening, and know where Turkey stood with it all.

While he knew it had been a very long time since he’d last seen his friend, he couldn’t believe that he’d changed that much over the last few centuries, particularly considering his opinion on Rome when they’d last met.

“Good man” the Statesman smiled, squeezing Greece’s shoulder one final time before returning through the doors of the room the others had left by, closing them behind him.

The promise had been made. Greece knew that his mother would be disappointed in him, particularly as the Statesman had told him that she did not approve of the idea. But there was one thing that Turkey had always been right about. The stronger his mother’s grip on him was, the harder it would be for him to grow. If he didn’t step out into the light by himself, then her grandeur and height would overshadow him forever.

He wasn’t his mother and he wasn’t a part of her. He loved her and owed so much to her, but he had to be the Nation he was supposed to become.

Greece remembered that weird theory Turkey had told him about the tree and the fields, where the two of them had played with Rome, Germania and Egypt, long before any of them had even understood what a Nation was. ‘Destined for great things’, could that really be true? Was there something that made the Nations that visited that tree special? Could that really be true?

Once more he felt his gaze drift up to the face of Helen and the baby in her arms.

Seven-hundred-and-fifty years ago, he’d been found as a baby on a dirty, dust covered road, that just so happened to coincide with the route the Athenian army and their Queen chose to take back home, following the destruction of Troy.

Helen had told him stories of how she had heard two babies crying out that night, and how they had both fallen silent before her husband’s army had attacked. At the time he hadn’t even considered that he may have been one of those children, but as time had gone by and he’d matured, long since Helen’s death, he realised that was what she’d believed.

He had then wondered as to the identity of the second child, debating with himself as to whether the other cry had just been that of a normal child, or if perhaps Helen had been mistaken when she thought she’d heard two.

But then, after meeting Turkey it occurred to him that the identity of the other child could only have been him. He’d never mentioned this to the other Nation, and he’d never told him the stories Helen had relayed to him about his origins, although Turkey had talked in abundance about his family and how they’d found him amongst the ruins of the fallen city.

It was as if the two of them were some how tied together, a bond forged by the gods themselves, that neither of them could ever be free of.

If there was any truth to Turkey’s belief in faith and destiny, then Greece was certain of one thing. The two of them had been born together, and for that reason they would die together as well. One could not slay the other, while they continued to live. The gods rarely made plans, and if they did there was always a tragic sense of irony to them.

“One thing I know, that I know nothing. This is the source of my wisdom.” That was something he’d read, the words of Socrates, immortalised on the page by his student Plato. Words that truly stayed with Greece when he approached the unknown. There was no shame in admitting you did not know something, because that was the first step towards mastering it.

“You gave your answer I presume?”

Greece turned away from the statue, to see his mother standing a short distance off, she must have turned back.

Suddenly nervous, Greece nodded. “I said I’d fight with them.”

She wouldn’t be happy, but as worried as he was about her reaction, he knew that this was something he had to do.

Nodding, his mother pursed her lips.

“One day a wise man will speak the words I want to say to you” she told him softly, “But I myself do not know them.” She took an unsteady step forward and crouched down beside him.

As Greece looked up at her face, he noticed a few blemishes here and there, small lines around her eyes, and perhaps the smallest streak of silver in her hair.

“You are my son, and one day I will no longer be here to guide you,” she pressed her lips to his forehead, “Make good decisions, make fair decisions, but most importantly make wise decisions.”

She pulled back, allowing Greece to hold her gaze uncertainly. “But how will I know what the right decision is?”

“Through experience and reason,” she did not hesitate in her reply. “I have taught you how to reason, but I have held you back from experiencing life… perhaps I wished to protect you from it a little while longer…” She shook her head carefully, “But I fear the time has come to allow you to make your own decisions.” Standing up straight, his mother dipped her head to him, “You have and always will be my son, and I will always be your mother. Whatever may come, please remember that.”

Perhaps he had imagined those lines on her face, because Greece suddenly found himself wanting to believe that he had been mistaken.

The truth of what life would be without her suddenly became all too clear to him. He would be alone, just like Turkey and Germania were. He’d understand why it was that Rome craved the bond he had with his grandson so dearly, because the reality he now understood was that Nations were fated to be alone. These few brief centuries they were able to share with another, were just small blips on the timeline.

Times that he would miss when they were gone.


	14. Clean Hand Made Bloody

**491 BC – Darius, the Persian King demands the submission of the Greek Kingdoms**

 

“Good!” Greece flinched at the vicious conviction of the general’s voice, as he heard the news, delivered by a rather small boy who was obviously doing his part to serve in the war effort as well.

Darius, the, ‘so called’, great, King of Persia had sent diplomats to all the Greek Kingdoms to request their submission, giving up their claims on the lands taken from them, all had succumbed to his pressure, with the exception of Athens and Sparta which stood tall and proud, ready to die to protect their lands.

While Greece knew that this was, in a way, good news, he also couldn’t help but feel worried for his mother. He knew from her letters, even though she told him very little, that this war was weakening her. After all, he lands were being torn from her and placed under the control of Persia, Greece couldn’t even begin to imagine what that must feel like.

He himself, seemed to have been protected from the worst of it. With Athens defended so heavily to the north, the Persians had not yet touched it, and that was where Greece felt his closest affinity. Perhaps because he was not the primary Nation of his kingdoms, that was also why he was saved the pain and torture his mother must be going through.

Turkey had been nowhere to see on the battlefield thus far. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t been out there, Greece had heard stories of the masked demon that fought for Persia, and it was simple enough to discern who they must be talking about.

Despite everything, Greece wasn’t sure whether to be critical or amused that Turkey was still wearing that mask. He told himself that he shouldn’t be either, after all, Turkey deserved nothing from him right now apart from his contempt.

Whatever his feelings of friendship had been in the past, he had to cast them aside now. Turkey had changed, in those centuries they’d been apart, the other Nation must have gone through a very extreme transition.

The one-way Greece had found himself impacted by this war, was that, despite being away from his mother, the constant onslaught on his land seemed to have hindered his growing process just as much as his mother’s suffocating presence did.

Whatever the rest of the Greek Kingdoms did, Athens and Sparta still stood strong with them, they would win, and they would drive the Persians back, deal them a blow that would make them feel twice about invading again, whatever they thought their claims were.

Greece had been kept away from the main body of the fight so far, the military officials deciding that they should lay down their last line of defence until it was absolutely necessary. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been allowed to observe.

The first battle Greece had seen, he was sick afterwards, and the images of lifeless bodies and that slashes of swords haunted him in his nightmares for about a month. No one showed him any sympathy or patience, because it was not owed to him. If he wanted to be here, he would have to accept that this was the way of battle, the other men had their own lives to worry about, they couldn’t afford to humour weakness.

So, Greece had forced himself to become indifferent, to suffer in silence and suppress the images that threatened to flash across his mind. There were still times it all became too overwhelming, and he had to hide away from the others for a few hours just to recollect himself.

Thankfully, being a Nation had its perks, nobody dared to question his movements, or prevent him from going where he pleased.

Respecting the privacy of the men, Greece kept away from the war tents he hadn’t been invited to, but he certainly used it to his full advantage when he’d had enough of being around gore and bloodshed.

Unfortunately, that was not an option right now. He was in the general’s war tent with a collection of other senior officers, discussing what this news meant.

“It means the war will go on” one Sparta officer grimaced, although there was a spark of pleasure blossoming deep in his eyes as well, “Well Darius better be expecting everything we throw at him, we’ll push both him and his men deep into the ocean they came from, and let the Kraken finish them off for good measure.”

A few of the other men around the table seemed uncertain, but if they had any doubts, they didn’t dare voice them.

The flaps to the tent suddenly flew open, the white face of a panicked soldier appearing.

Despite his obvious fear, the man straightened up and saluted them before speaking. “The camp is under attack.”

The words he spoke were so simple and precise, it seemed ironic to Greece that they should carry such weight.

Immediately Greece felt a hand on his shoulder as he was pulled away by the general, being thrown to another man who was ordered to keep him safe.

The boy opened his mouth to tell them that really it should be the other way around, and that he could help to keep them safe, but there was too much already going on, so he allowed himself to be dragged away through the back entrance.

The slaughter was evident immediately. Greece and his guard both startled sharply at the sight of another man’s head fixed to a nearby tree with what appeared to be a long and rusty makeshift nail. His mouth was slumped open, eyes rolled back and bloodshot. It was a perfect image of death, completely devoid of anything that could have been mistaken for life.

“Come on.”

The Nation felt his hand being pulled on, as he was pulled around the trees, away from the sounds of the fight.

“I can help” Greece finally managed to find his voice, digging in his heals. “I was brought out here to help fight, and I can, the general’s been training me, and it’s not like their swords will hurt me anyway.”

But the guard shook his head, “My orders are to keep you safe and away from the battle, and…” A rasping gurgling sound cut the man off, his grip tightening around Greece’s wrist, eyes wide with shock and fear, before he slumped, still impaled on the sword that had struck him from behind.

Letting out a cry of shock, Greece pulled his wrist free and fell back away from the attacker, reaching for the small knife he’d been given just in case he had to defend himself. It was small, but Greece knew that he’d be able to do a great deal of damage with it.

He was in too much of a panic to focus on the individual, the scarf around his head and face obscured his features too much to waste the energy on deciphering the Persian man’s appearance.

All Greece focused on was the lunge forward he made towards the soldier. He hadn’t accounted for his target simply stepping aside. Stumbling, Greece was caught by the scruff of his tunic. Terror began to settle in as he felt the strength of that grip, a hold he couldn’t break free from.

Unable to think properly, the young-looking Nation reacted as soon as he saw the soldier’s hand release the sword still buried deep in the back of his guard, moving towards the scarf that covered his face. Even in his fear, Greece knew this was a vulnerable moment he could take advantage of.

He spun, taking advantage of his light weight and size, striking out blindly with his knife.

The blade made contact, sinking deep into the flesh of his attacker’s arm.

“Alqarf!”

Greece didn’t understand what had just been said, but it sounded like a curse. All that mattered to him, was that he’d been dropped to the ground and was free to run once more.

He’d dropped his knife, afraid it would slow him down if he tried to pull it free, so instead he simply focused on running, hoping that the soldier would be too occupied with his injury to take up the chase.

He was wrong.

Greece had only run a short distance when the hand took hold of him again, far more firmly this time.

“Stop struggling!”

Those were words spoken in his own tongue.

Greece froze. He didn’t turn, but he did swivel his green eyes round as far as they would go to look up at the man’s face as he tore the scarf away.

That stupid mask was still obscuring half his features, but Greece knew who he was looking at now, even if he couldn’t quite believe it.

Turkey had to be eighteen in appearance, most certainly an adult. He was dressed in the traditional Persian military-wear, with the exception of the pale mask that distinguished him vividly from anyone else who could have been on the field.

Then Greece remembered himself. Even if this was Turkey, they were still at war, and therefore it was his job to get away. He began struggling again, but the other Nation only tightened his grip.

“By the gods, you still haven’t grown much have you,” he shook his head. “Would you stop struggling, I’m not going to do anything to you!” There was a touch of annoyance to his voice now, as he gave Greece’s tunic a sharp tug.

“Don’t touch me, you… you…” he began searching for an insult but having grown up in a sheltered palace with a mother who would have cuffed him for so much as a rude observation, he was coming up short.

Turkey sighed, “Look, if I release you, promise you won’t run off, and I promise I won’t lay a hand on you, okay?”

Considering this, Greece frowned, searching the other Nations face, frustrated that he couldn’t see his eyes properly.

“Fine.”

He had questions that needed answering anyway.

The hand holding him relaxed, before releasing him completely. At this point Greece knew that he could try and run again, but there was always a chance that Turkey would just catch up and grab him once more.

So instead he turned, shifted a few steps away and sat down on a nearby rock, arms crossed, watching as Turkey did the same. It was only now that Greece noticed the way Turkey was clutching one of his arms, only just managing to hide the red stain that spread like a dark river across the material of his clothes.

“You’re… you’re bleeding?” This was not a question that came out of any sort of concern for Turkey’s wellbeing, although that was not intentional, there was simply a degree of shock. Greece had never seen a Nation bleed before, he didn’t even know that they could bleed.

“Apparently, I am.” Turkey removed his hand to peer curiously at the wound, wincing slightly before placing his hand there once more. “It’s okay, it’s healing.” He paused, then glanced back up at Greece, “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?” The young Greek Nation’s tone tightened defensively, to him it sounded like he was being mocked for his lack of knowledge, although in all honesty, it didn’t really sound like Turkey had intended it that way.

“That a Nation can hurt another Nation.” His mouth held in a sharp line, Turkey released his arm once more and held it out for Greece to see. It looked excessively painful for him to do so, but he kept his arm where it was, allowing the other Nation to lean over and watch as the layers of skin slowly spread across the bloody injury, each part of the body repairing itself until nothing was left but a thin white line.

“It’ll scar” Turkey explained a little bitterly, “Injuries from Nations never completely heal, if they’re deep enough.” He shook out his newly healed arm, his shadowed eyes finding Greece’s mossy green ones once more. “You’re even more out of the loop than I thought,” he shook his head slowly, “I did tell you that peace would never last forever…”

“And who’s fault is that!” Greece snapped, his curiosity coming to an abrupt end upon hearing Turkey’s last words. “You invaded my lands!”

“Well in all honesty Darius The Great, is invading your lands, I hate to take credit for another man’s work.”

The joke was not a funny one.

“Right,” sensing Greece’s lack of amusement, Turkey raised his hands. “Sorry. But you need to understand that you can benefit from this as well.”

The younger looking Nation did not reply, but the frown on his face intensified.

“Don’t you see” he sighed, “What your mother is doing to you. You can’t grow because while she’s still in charge you’ll never grow, you’re little more than a sub-Nation right now, nothing bigger than those small Nations that Rome has destroyed, you don’t think he won’t be coming here at some point, do you?”

He took Greece’s silence as a sign to continue.

“If Rome gets here then he’ll kill you, don’t think he’ll spare you any sympathy because we played together in that ‘magical land’ as children.” His tone was decisively cynical as he referred to the weird dreams they’d all shared during the first few decades of life. “Whatever you might think, your mother is weak, that is why you exist, because the fates know that one day her time will come, and you will have to take her place…”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about then.” Greece shook his head angrily.

The eastern Nation’s temper was beginning to run short as well, Greece could see the nostrils of his nose beginning to flare. “Would you just try to understand! Rome doesn’t care about fate or what the world might have planned for us all. He could kill you and your mother like it was nothing, and assume control over your lands, just like he’s trying to do with everyone else!”

Greece watched as Turkey tensed his fist and struck himself in the forehead with it. “I didn’t want to attack you, but I knew I could use it to help you, help you grow into a new age all of your own, and if that was with my influence then fine!”

The other Nation’s chest was rising and falling, but due to that stupid mask, Greece couldn’t tell which emotion was causing his breathing to become that erratic. It didn’t matter though, he knew what his answer was.

“You think I would ever forgive you if you destroyed my mother?” Rising to his feet, Greece took a deep breath, trying to control his anger. “Do you think I would ever work with you if you took away the one person who’s taken care of me all this time?”

Turkey opened his mouth in protest, but Greece cut across him furiously.

“You disgust me! You make excuses, by telling me others see the world in the same messed up way that you do!” Greece wished he still had the knife in his hand because regardless of the consequences he would have given Turkey a few more scars to contemplate. “You invaded my home, killed my people, and for what!? It’s got nothing to do with me or my mother! You just wanted to feel powerful, you want to do exactly what Rome is doing, spread your land and influence, and you’re willing to destroy anyone who stands in your way!”

Turkey moved towards him. Greece didn’t know what his intentions were, but he didn’t hesitate, he bit down sharply on the hand reaching out towards him, holding on tightly until he tasted the disgusting metallic swell of blood. Releasing his jaws, Greece ran, and this time Turkey did not pursue.


	15. Tentative Peace

**380 BC – Peace Treaty between Persia and Greece signed**

Turkey crossed his legs restlessly, then immediately uncrossed them again, hands twitching at his sides, eyes darting around the room as he searched for some sign that something was about to happen.

He’d been sitting in the entrance hall to the Athenian palace with seven of Persia’s finest politicians for the last hour, waiting for the Greeks to finally address them. He was sure they were holding out deliberately, trying to provoke them with their rudeness and lack of hospitality.

They didn’t really have any other choice though. Following their first few successful years, the Greeks had really pushed back against them, mostly led by Sparta and Athens. They were getting nowhere with this, so it had been decided that they would call an end to their operations into Greece and sign a formal peace treaty.

It was humiliating, and Turkey knew he was going to be tempted to punch Greece’s mother right in her smug face when he saw her, but he had to hold back, for the sake of his own people and the delicate peace they were trying to form.

Finally, the double doors opened, and a slave held out a hand to motion them all inside.

Jumping to his feet, ahead of the old men, Turkey made towards the door, only to be stopped by a rather firm hand on his shoulder, forcing him to pause and wait for the others to go in ahead of him.

“Remember what you were told” the stern voice reminded him. The pressure of the sultan’s right-hand man who was here to make sure that nothing went wrong. “Keep your mouth shut, you are only here as a formality.”

“Yeah, I know.” Pulling free Turkey pushed his way forward, after the others.

He knew he was only here as a sign of power, a small reminder to the Greeks that they to had a Nation. He wasn’t however permitted to talk, make eye contact with anyone, or be involved in the negotiation process. As the masked Nation passed through the door, he nodded to the slave who had let them through, feeling a sudden, if misplaced companionship with the man for a few moments.

As he’d expected, Greece’s mother was present, however her son was not.

He longed to say something, make some sort of snide remark about it, but as promised Turkey held his tongue, doing his best not to look at her, although every curse word he knew was sounding off like lightning in his head.

“No Persian warship is to sail west of Phaselis…” The Greeks began reciting their list of demands.

Turkey kept one ear craned towards the various statements, but as he wasn’t entitled to have a say in anything, he searched for other things to keep him entertained.

Where was little Greece at the moment?

He had to be in the Palace somewhere, there was no way his mother would have allowed him to be out and about on his own now that the war was actually over. Perhaps he was listening into the meeting like he’d occasionally done when they were younger.

Eyes drifting around eagerly, Turkey searched for any low-lying windows that Greece could be peering through when he though that no one was looking, unfortunately all the windows were fairly high and sealed.

Perhaps he was simply waiting outside the door, ear trained to the small gap, trying to catch what he could.

“It seems we are not keeping the attention of your Nation?”

Turkey flicked his gaze back to Greece’s mother, who was watching him with a neutral expression, her hands folded modestly on her lap.

Glad of the mask that hid his glare, the Nation shook his head, “Not at all, please continue.”

He could feel the eyes of Persia’s politicians on him, tense and terrified. They were taking all of this far too seriously, of course Greece’s mother was going to try and call him out, it was practically what she was here for, the Kingdoms were hardly going to jeopardise their whole peace plan on the basis of their Nation calling another out.

But still, he tried to look like he was paying attention for the rest of the meeting, keeping his lips pursed and firmly closed, even when he heard something he disagreed with.

It was particularly frustrating as Greece’s mother was allowed to partake in the discussions, and she was listened to with absolute respect from the Persians. Why should they be treating her with such care, when all he got were lectures and disapproving glances. Was he, or was he not their Nation? They should be treating him with a bit more respect.

He could feel the tension in his knuckles building, so the Nation stuffed them under the table where they wouldn’t offend anyone and settled for grinding his teeth instead.

No one respected him.

He’d done nothing but serve his country and Sultan, he’d done everything they wanted of him. He’d succeeded in so many ways, his Nation was wealthy, it had grown, it was powerful, and yet no other Nation, or even his own people seemed to accredit any of this to him.

To the other Nations he was Turkey, the odd Nation just past the Greek Kingdoms, and to his people he was simply a fancy looking figure head, a mascot, something to be wheeled out at special occasions, before being placed back in his box again.

Well why should he take it?

Getting very suddenly to his feet, he ensured that he drew the attention of every man around the table, even Greece’s mother paused for a few moments to look at him with surprise.

Turkey said nothing, but he allowed a loose smile to cross his features, before turning on his heel and leaving the room. If his politicians didn’t want him to speak, that was one thing, but he wasn’t going to waste his time sitting there if he couldn’t be of any use to them. He had better things to be getting on with while he was here, or rather he had someone much more important to find, preferably while his mother was busy.

A voice might have tried to call him back, but if so, Turkey ignored it, allowing the large double doors to swing closed behind him, heading back out into the miserable waiting room, before striding out into the main body of the Palace.

He wasn’t sure where he’d find Greece, but the smaller Nation had to be around here somewhere.

Passing through the gardens in front of the main entrance he paused, eyes drawn towards a statue, he must have passed it on his way in, but he hadn’t actually looked properly at it.

It was a statue of a woman, a very beautiful woman who he felt he should know, and in her arms was a baby with a rather distinctive curl spiralling from the top of his head. “This must be Helen…” He stepped towards it, placing a careful hand against the marble so he could examine the words that were scrawled out in the weird alphabet – it had changed a bit since it had been taught to him, but it was simple enough to fill in the blanks based on what he did know.

“Helen of Troy, the face that launched a thousand ships” he read out loud, there was no mention of the child by name, not even his human name. It seemed Greece was just as under appreciated as him when it came to the status of Nationhood.

Greece had told him about Helen when they were still young and living together. She was the one who had given him the name ‘Herakles’, just as his distant and almost forgotten parents had given him the name ‘Sadiq’.

This thought caused the Persian Nation to tense, a hand reaching up to rest against the edge of his mask. No, not almost forgotten. He remembered them. Even though their faces were blurred images to him he still remembered who they were, what they were like, and everything they had given to him, and given up for him. It was people like that he wanted to benefit from the Persia they were forming, and it was people like that wanted to help. The good, honest and hardworking people of his country, not the politicians and Sultan who already got far too much attention from everybody else.

Was this what he wanted?

Perhaps he’d been too hard on Greece when they’d spoken back on the battlefield. How could he lecture someone else about what they should be doing, when he wasn’t even completely sure himself what it was he wanted to be doing.

Was it right for Nations to live in Palaces with their Leaders? Or should they be out there trying to live like normal people? Should they have a say in politics? Or was that better left to the officials?

Sighing loudly, in his frustration Turkey almost missed the sound of footsteps on the grass behind him.

Spinning around quickly, his eyes dashed across the green landscape, scanning around pillars and topiaries for any sign of life. For a few moments he saw nothing, and then, there was the white streak of a toga behind the nearest topiary.

“Herakles” he greeted with a small smile, “There’s no need to hide, we aren’t at war anymore after all.” To emphasis this, the Nation adjusted himself on the stairs so that he was now sitting rather than standing. He knew that his height seemed to intimidate the smaller Nation, particularly as they were supposed to be the same age, but it was hardly his fault that the rest of them had grown up and left Greece and Egypt behind.

He wasn’t sure if the other Nation would actually emerge without further prompting, but, after a moment of hesitation, Greece appeared, scowling angrily.

“Don’t call me that!” He snapped quietly, voice so low that Turkey could barely hear what it was he was saying.

He could tease Greece, or debate this point, but there didn’t seem to be anything to gain from that, so instead Turkey simply shrugged.

“Very well, but perhaps we could still talk. I was concerned you may have misunderstood some of the things I said to you that day we met, and I wanted to apologise for my brashness.” Be the bigger man, after all, in more ways that one, Greece was still only a twelve-year-old boy.

Greece did not however, relax. “What did I misunderstand?”

“Well…” He had been expecting Greece to challenge him back, but Turkey still wasn’t quite sure how to answer, the exact words of the conversation were gone from his mind, and he could only remember the vague impression. “I did not want to destroy your home, or take it off you, not in the way you thought at least. I would never have harmed you or your mother. I just wanted to be able to protect you from the dangers out there that both of you fail to see.”

“So, you’re saying my mother is naïve?”

 Yes.

“No,” Turkey shook his head, hoping he wouldn’t be caught in his lie. “I’m just saying that this is a new age of Nations, me, you, Rome, and all the others are different to the Nations that came before us. We’re stronger and…”

“…and we have a ‘destiny’?” The smaller Nation rolled his eyes.

“…and we are infinitely more dangerous than anything she can conceive” Turkey finished with a frown, “That is you included. You and Egypt have been able to sustain life under another Nation’s rule, your very being is slowly draining their power from them. Since the day you were born, your mother has been getting weaker, and with or without intervention.”

That drew out a look of shock from the boy, and Turkey could practically see him trying to figure out a way out of this argument. Taking advantage of his uncertainty, Turkey pressed on.

“Your mother fears this, but she does not understand it. You have two choices on how you act from this point forward, remain weak and prologue her life, but risk invasion and her murder; or you can get stronger, strong enough to protect her, but in doing so you will only drain her life faster.”

They were heavy words for a child, but as much as Greece wanted to believe it he was not a child, he was simply too stubborn to admit that and grow up.

“You don’t know any of that…” It was a cry in the dark, Greece knew he was right, but was holding onto any hand he could take to continue to live in denial.

“Yes, I do, and you do as well. You’ve seen the signs of aging, and you have seen her spark beginning to fade. Perhaps it will happen to all of us one day,” he whipped a feather from his pocket, not just any feather, but a Roman plume feather, baking red against the midday sun. Holding it out so that Greece could see it properly, Turkey turned it around in his hand.

“Rome’s own grandson, his heir, he makes Rome weak, and one day that little boy will bring about his death as well.”

“Then if Rome is gone…”

“Rome isn’t going yet, he can still do a lot of damage before then” Turkey interrupted, “Look at your mother, she’s survived nearly a thousand years with you at her feet. Besides,” he flicked the feather around in his hand once more, “If you think Rome is bad, imagine what his heir could become. What if the Nation of Italy were to conquer even the northern lands of Germania, spread here to Greece and then out into Persia. Imagine the whole of Europe and Asia being pulled under the control of one Nation?”

He watched as Greece fidgeted, giving him a chance to respond this time.

“But you said that we’re strong as well…” His expression was tightening in begrudging understanding, “We’re all strong to maintain balance. Italy cannot push east if I am standing here to hold him back, and he cannot push north if Germania is there to stop him.”

Smiling a little, Turkey nodded, glad that finally Greece seemed to understand his situation.

They didn’t speak any further, as Turkey heard the footsteps of others approaching, humans who had come in search of one of them. Greece ran immediately, and Turkey rose back to his feet, stuffing the feather back into the depths of his deep pockets.


	16. On Your Advice

 

**334 BC – Alexander the Great begins his campaign in Persia**

‘The King of Macedon’. Turkey spat on the ground, who did this man think he was, daring to push into his lands like this?

Pain ricocheted through his chest, and there was an awful metallic swelling taste in his throat, although whenever he tried to spit it out he found nothing out of the ordinary. This had to be due to the invasion, it needed to be stopped.

This was all that bitch’s doing, he knew it.

Just because he’d had a go at her earlier that century, she had to take a shot at him in response.

“Why aren’t we doing something about this!?” He demanded furiously, speaking over the nervous politicians and overly confident generals. “They need to leave right now!” Rising to his feet, as if about to head out to the border immediately, Turkey glared at all of them.

“Sit down!” King Darius III ordered, “This is a serious matter that we are addressing, if you cannot keep quiet then I will ask for you to be removed from the war room!”

The Nation didn’t move, but returned the glare being fired at him. They didn’t understand. While they were all here, talking about possible plans or negotiations his insides were being shredded to pieces. This invasion was weakening him, he could feel his energy draining already, and the Greeks had barely made it past Ancyra. This Greek king was serious, and he wasn’t going to stop and negotiate, they needed to stop him, and stop him quickly before he gained too much ground.

“Guards!”

Soldiers stepped forward, but they all looked hesitant to actually grab the Nation and drag him from the room.

Turkey continued to hold his ground, this time he was going to be listened to.

“This Greek King is marching on Cappadocia as we speak, at this rate he’ll be in Babylon in two months! Are we just going to sit and argue until he arrives on our doorstep?”

The King clicked his tongue foolishly, smirking at Turkey in such a condescending way, that the Nation heavily considered taking his head off there and then. “That is where you will come in, this Alexander, king or not is merely a man after all, we will simply have you take him out and the invasion will fall to pieces.”

Was that all he was to these people? A weapon to be used because they were too lazy and incompetent to come up with anything better.

His temper was rising, and the soldiers around him sensed it as they stepped back uncertainly.

“And what if he brings that alkaliba with him? With the rest of Persia on its knees do you really think I’ll be able to stand against her?” While he couldn’t imagine Greece’s mother ever gracing a battlefield with her pristine presence, he could see her making a special exception just for him if she thought there was a chance she could end him for good.

Now the king had risen to his feet. “Are you or are you not the embodiment of our country’s strength? The will of its people, the wealth of our lands?”

Turkey scowled, but he didn’t reply, unsure where the king was going with this.

“Are you saying with all of that behind you, you are unable to stand against a Nation like Greece?”

Hand itching towards his empty scabbard, Turkey flexed his shoulders, letting out a deep huff of air through his nose. “If King Alexander takes our lands, then he removes them from my control, I will no longer be able to draw on them for strength. If Babylonia is all that is left by the time they reach us, I will be nothing beside the new might of Greece!” He hated to admit it, but it was true, and it was a reality he’d have to face if these people didn’t start taking this seriously.

Turkey did not intend on dying, he knew that there was still so much left he had to do, so much he would do. He wasn’t going to have his time cut short like this.

“You can sit around here and talk, but I’m going to the front where the Greeks are advancing, and I will stop them from taking any more of my land from me.” Sweeping around, he spared a look to the soldiers who all jumped away from him in unison, before exciting the room with the most dramatic flourish he could muster.

They weren’t empty words though. If he wanted to put a stop to this then he would have to do it himself.

Greece’s mother wouldn’t enter the fight until the crucial moment, while he was still facing humans there was a chance. Besides, he was sure the moral of the soldiers out there would benefit from his presence to.

Returning to his wing of the palace, Turkey pulled a bag out from the wardrobe and began to load it with necessities he might need, mostly his armour and weapons. He’d take a horse early the next morning and ride out to the front line. If the king really wanted to stop him he could try, but Turkey was prepared to take on anything if it meant preserving his own life.

Throwing the bag down in the vague direction of the door, Turkey fell down onto his bed, taking a moment to breath before kicking off his clothes to retire under the covers.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Turkey found himself thinking of Greece, the small Nation that wouldn’t grow. What did he think of all this? Was he supportive of his mother, or doubtful? Surely the Greece he knew, the one that so blatantly disliked conflict couldn’t be happy about this, even if he wasn’t particularly fond of Turkey at the moment.

If only Greece was here so he could talk to him, figure out what was happening? It was this unsettling confusion that was getting to him the most, although the pain in his gut still continued, grinding and tightening around his stomach.

As he finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, Turkey felt the darkness swallow him, and, for a few moments he was allowed to float peacefully through the shadows, before the light once more tore itself into the forefront.

Sitting up with a start, Turkey looked around.

He was no longer in his bed, in fact he was no longer lying in any sort of bed. Instead it appeared as if he’d been stretched out on a flattened down sheet of long grass, hidden by the blades beneath a gloriously beautiful sun.

“Where… It can’t be.” Stumbling to his feet, Turkey looked around properly. It had been centuries since he’d last been here, the field with the tree… did that mean… did it mean the others were here to?

He could see the tall spreading form of the tree in the distance, although it seemed a lot further away than it ever had before, and, there was a figure sitting there. The figure looked small, to small to be a fully-grown adult, could that be Greece?

Fighting his way through the grass, Turkey began to run, stumbling and tripping as he went. This had been a lot easier when he was a child.

But, he’d only made it a few meters when a voice stopped him.

“What are we doing here?”

Greece.

The voice that spoke was not that of a small child, but deeper. Not yet the voice of a man, but no longer the voice of a child.

It was Greece, there was no mistaking that blank expression, and silly curl. He could have been fourteen? That would have been Turkey’s guess if he had to put a number to it. Well, if Turkey’s suffering had brought about one thing, he was glad that it had allowed Greece to grow a little more.

All thought of the figure he’d seen by the tree itself left his mind, as his focus all turned to Greece instead.

“I have no idea, but, I wanted to talk to you, so that might be why…”

Greece’s expression sharpened, and he stood a little straighter. This threw Turkey a little, but he pressed on.

“This invasion, why’s it happening? I get that your mother must be annoyed because of the whole Persian invasion thing, but we signed your peace treaties, why is this Alexander throwing all that to the wind?”

Greece still didn’t speak.

“Look maybe you could have a word with him. I know my people are willing to negotiate, we don’t want this any more than you do, you guys have taken Lydia and Phyrgia right? Perhaps we can work something out, and you could hold onto them for a bit…” He knew he couldn’t really make that promise himself, but if it was something Greece could take back to the invading king then it might at least buy them some time.

“Be quiet.” Greece’s voice was cool and smooth, catching the Persian Nation entirely off guard. His mouth closed immediately. “I’m doing nothing more than what you told me. You said I had two choices, become strong or risk invasion, I’m simply taking that advise.”

Confused, Turkey frowned. “Well yes, but I meant prepare for dangers against Rome and… wait, what do you mean ‘You’re doing nothing more?’”

This was his mother’s doing surely, why would Greece even be wrapped up in something like this?

“My mother spoke against King Alexander’s plans, she thought it best to trust in the peace treaties, but you’ve helped me see the truth of these things. Peace is only a temporary state, the only way we can ensure our security is to eliminate any threat,” his green eyes narrowed, “and the only threat I see around here is you.”

It may not have been the predictable reaction, but Turkey couldn’t help but laugh. What else was he supposed to do. “And when you reach Babylon what then?” He knew none of this was funny, but his body seemed to be misfiring reactions.

Despite his height and physical years, Turkey almost stepped back when Greece advanced towards him, a hand seizing the front of his tunic. “I’ll put that story of yours to the test, see if it is truly possible to kill a Nation.”

The laughing stopped, and instead there was only silence as Turkey searched Greece’s eyes for some sign of doubt, some sign that this was all a bluff. He found none.

Pulling free of the grip, Turkey surveyed Greece in a way he’d never done so before. He surveyed him with a wary caution. This was not the same Greece he’d dealt with before, this Greece was older, stronger and autonomous, outside his mother’s control.

“You wouldn’t…” Turkey couldn’t bring himself to sound certain though. “You wouldn’t actually kill me?”

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see” was the only reply he got as the Greek Nation began to fade, his body becoming a shimmering translucent wave, before vanishing entirely. Turkey himself could feel this world beginning to fade as well.

Sitting up, this time in his own bed, Turkey clenched the sheets uneasily, his dark skin pale against them as he tried to shake the strong feeling of discomfort from his chest. That had been no dream, the words Greece had said to him were real.

Changed or not, Turkey was still struggling to believe his old friend was capable of such a thing. Even Turkey during his invasion had never actually been intending to kill Greece’s mother, even if he knew his success would probably still bring about her downfall.

He shook his head quickly. He couldn’t focus on this.

The aim was to stop King Alexander advancing any further into Persia, provided he succeeded there, he wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not Greece was serious. He just needed to get to the front now and fix this mess so that everything could return to normal again.

Normal. What even was that anymore?

While he may only appear to be eighteen, Turkey had never felt so old before in his life.

It had been nine-hundred-years since he’d been normal, since he’d been Sadiq, travelling with his family in a world that did not yet truly understand what a Nation was. That was a time when even Rome had been as wide-eyed and innocent as the rest of them. They’d played together in those dream-like fields, beneath the branches of the tree that stretched out above them. But those were days they’d never get back.

Rome’s power swelled by the day as he deepened his clutches into the land that surrounded his own, his infant grandson by his side waiting patiently for his chance to grow and usurp.

They were all cursed to die, just as everything else was.

Turkey understood that, but it didn’t mean he had to accept it, not yet. His will to fight was not gone yet, and he was certain that this was not the end. There were many centuries yet still ahead of him.


	17. Spinning Hourglasses

**224 BC – Persia begins rebuilding itself following the Greek Invasion**

The last few years had been long and exhausting. They’d been unable to prevent the Greek advance, and, by the time they were two-hundred miles off Babylon, Turkey knew he had only one choice. He needed to run. By that point he was more of a drain than an asset anyway, on some mornings barely able to stand let alone fight.

Greece was on the battlefield as well, sword in hand as he cut his people to the ground. It was as if he were merely slicing bread with a particularly sharp knife.

But, finally, they had been able to make some advance on the Greeks, and while they hadn’t recaptured their lands in their entirety, Turkey could feel his energy returning to him with each settlement that retook their flag.

Finally, they could rebuild, and he could take some time to recover.

In such a short amount of time, so much had changed. The borders were ever changing, and the number of Nations forever growing smaller as Rome and Germania cut across those who stood against them, solidifying their own strength and power with every inch of land they gained.

Turkey was weak, he’d been weakened by the Greek invasion, which was why it was important for him to strengthen his borders as quickly as possible. If Rome sensed he was vulnerable, then Turkey didn’t doubt that he would see the arrival of those metal clad men under the red and gold banner that haunted southern Europe.

A squadron of Persian soldiers had been sent to find him, escorting a messenger who begged his return to Babylon to solidify the people’s conviction in this new Persia. While Turkey wanted to do nothing more than send them away, he knew that every effort had to be made to inspire moral, and if that meant returning to the side of a new King, then that was what he had to do.

And so, Turkey eventually found himself once more sitting back at the side of a Persian King, a figurehead once more. While this new King was not as dismissive of him as his last, Turkey doubted that he was truly being taken seriously either. The king and his advisers would nod along to any points he made, but they were seldom discussed again, pushed aside for the statements of others.

It was however, a surprise to him when he was summoned to the throne room with absolute urgency. This was not something Turkey was accustomed to, and with his curiosity peaked, he obeyed, appearing before the king a mere five minutes later.

“Your majesty” he bowed his head formally as he approached the richly dressed man bestowed upon the throne of cushions at the head of the room. “What is it that I can do for you?”

The King ushered him to his usual seat, positioned slightly lower down than the king’s own, while still remaining as close to him as possible.

“I received word only a short while ago that a party of diplomats from Egypt have entered the city and wish to negotiate a trade deal with us.”

A diplomatic trade party. That was good news, wasn’t it?

The king noticed his confusion, and shook his head quickly, forcing a nervous smile to his face. “Of course, I am very pleased, I have just had so little time to prepare. We must present a stable but resilient image to them. The younger Egyptian Nation is with them, I would like for you to give him a good impression of our culture and city, something he can convey back to his people once the negotiations are done.”

Egypt?

It was so easy sometimes for him to forget about the other Nation that had occupied that play space with him, Greece, Rome and Germania. Up until this point Egypt had dealt mostly with Greece, his mother and Greece’s mother being good friends it was inevitable. However, to hear that might be changing was further evidence that this new world they were about to step into would be very different to the old one.

Of course, he had met the other Nation in the flesh before, but that had been quite a few centuries ago when he’d been at the pinnacle of his power. At that point Egypt had seemed to be aging at a similar rate to Greece, most likely due to mirroring control their mothers both had over them, but he was curious to know if that was still the same.

Indeed, it did not seem like the king had been given a lot of notice at all. No sooner had Turkey finished processing this thought, the doors to the throne room were opened, and a servant appeared to declare the arrival of the Egyptian Diplomats and Nation.

Turkey’s eyes turned quickly, scanning through the sea of men, in search of Egypt. He’d know which one it was when he saw him.

There.

He focused in on the only child amongst the group. Egypt was shorter than Greece or Turkey had been at that age, but he was unmistakably somewhere between the age of twelve and fourteen. But, also like Greece, the way he held himself was notably different than it had been the last time they’d met.

The boy had a steely eyed focus, and his brown eyes locked onto Turkey’s own in a matter of seconds. He appeared calm, but that firm look informed Turkey that he was still to be taken seriously.

The old powers were fading, and in their place new ones were rising.

Although Turkey knew it was a little ridiculous, he couldn’t help but get the impression there was some sort of ticking countdown, growing ever closer to zero. As for what would happen when they reached that sudden number, he wasn’t sure.

The Egyptian party bowed their heads politely, and in return Turkey bowed his own, he was not a king after all so had to obey the traditional formalities, particularly when they had been offered to him by the other Nation.

“Greetings” his king motioned the men to sit down, “This is our representing Nation, I have instructed him to show your own the city, if that is agreeable?”

The visitors exchanged uncertain glances, but Egypt had already risen again. “I would like that” he nodded swiftly, maintaining that intensive look beneath his soft words.

Well at least he seemed compliant. Turkey could only imagine what a fuss Greece would have thrown if he’d been offered the same request.

“So?” He began, once the doors of the throne room had been closed behind them, “It’s been a while?” What else was he supposed to say, this wasn’t like speaking with Greece, he didn’t really know Egypt that well.

“It has.” The answer was simple and straight to the point, as the smaller Nation followed him through the halls.

Things were awkwardly silent, with the odd exception of Turkey pausing to make reference to a point of particular historical note as they passed it. It was hard to get an impression of whether Egypt was bored, or that was just the way his expression naturally settled – knowing what Greece was like, he could easily believe it.

Then, just as they were reaching a rather beautiful temple dedicated to the worship of Ahura Mazda, when Egypt paused, forcing Turkey to stop with him.

“Do you believe your god is the one who made us?” He asked, head tilted curiously to one side.

Turkey opened his mouth, then closed it again. For all the various and different things, he’d thought about over the century, this was not one of them. After all, he’d seen religion change and fluctuate around him so consistently that he wasn’t completely sure what he believed in anymore.

“I believe someone must have created us” he finally replied. “There’s too much happening for this not to be a plan of some kind, the way we’re born from the earth, or the dreams we shared as children. Perhaps the true deity is contained within that tree.” The tree he was referring to was obvious to anyone who had dreamed a dream of a Nation.

“Perhaps you’re right, or perhaps you’re wrong” Egypt deliberated, tilting his head this way and that, as if performing a prescribed neck exercise. “Perhaps the only way to know is at the end, or perhaps even then we will never know.”

Feeling that was something awkward to follow up to, Turkey remained silent. He got the impression that Egypt wanted to speak again, so he waited for the silence to fill again.

“My mother is dying, and I know that Greece’s mother is as well. I don’t know how much longer she has left, perhaps a few decades, maybe a couple of centuries. But I can see her weakening. I also see the ways Greece’s own mother is aging.” His sharp green eyes turned to Turkey, meeting his own gaze directly. “A new age is coming, you feel it as well, don’t you?”

Turkey frowned, but he also nodded, after all, he couldn’t deny it. If Egypt felt the same stirrings, then perhaps he wasn’t being paranoid either.

“It’s like a countdown” he confessed finally, “As if there’s an hourglass with only a few grains of sand left.”

Egypt glanced up towards the temple, “If that is the case, then it will be time to turn the hourglass over again, and someone will have to be there to do that.”

The smaller Nation moved on down the road by himself, leaving Turkey to hurry after him.

“Do you think it’s in our nature to ask all these questions of ourselves?” Turkey let out a loose laugh, “Greece is just the same, so I was surprised you were as well.”

Egypt shrugged, he didn’t turn this time, but he did speak. “I never got the impression speaking with Greece that the two of you were particularly close?”

Well that would be the impression that stubborn brat would give.

“We were once. We were born in the same moment, one event brought us both into existence mere miles from the other.” He sighed, “I even spent a few centuries in the palace with him and his mother, until I learned she was trying to hold me, so she could hold her influence over my country.” There was a part of Turkey that would never forgive her for that, no matter how long ago it had been.

“And then you invaded his country?” Egypt’s voice was clear of judgement, but the irony was not lost.

“I did that to try and help him!” Folding his arms, the Persian Nation narrowed his eyes. “He just wouldn’t believe that anyone outside of the Greek Kingdoms could be a threat, and his mother was smothering him down into the body of that tiny child, and…” Realising that the same might have been true for Egypt, he closed his mouth.

The other Nation did not look offended, but by his silence, Turkey could only assume that his guess had been right.

“The point is” he continued, “I know he doesn’t really like me right now, and hey, he just tried to kill me, so I’m not awfully fond of him at the moment either. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s important to me, both as a Nation, and an old friend.”

It was the first time he’d ever really put that into words before, and it surprised him to hear his inner-thoughts out-loud for the first time. But it was true. To some extent he felt an affinity with all the Nations he’d played with under the tree, but with Greece there was a particularly profound bond. It was as if something had locked them together, and that their history and future was destined to be forever intertwined, for better or worse.

They walked the rest of the city in silence. Turkey no longer pointed anything out, both of them were too deeply lost in their own thoughts. But, by the time they arrived back at the Palace the outlining plans of the agreement had been discussed, and it seemed promising that it would be signed in a few days after the Egyptians had the chance to overlook all the details properly.

As awkward as the first few hours had been, Turkey found, looking back on it, that he’d rather enjoyed his time with Egypt. He didn’t often get the chance to speak with other Nations, and in the past that had almost always been Greece who tended to just get angry with him, so it was nice to go at his own pace with someone else for a bit.

They really were about to head into a new age. Everything around them was about to change. The question was, where would it start?


	18. Change Is Upon Us

“What are you doing?” Although his tone didn’t make it particularly clear, Greece was both baffled and furious to see Rome’s men packaging many of the Palace’s most valuable vases into crates. “Put them back.”

He moved forward, intending to make them, when a large hand struck out and seized him gently but firmly by the scruff of his tunic.

“Greece, Greece, Greece.” The owner of the hand shook his head and clicked his tongue, the sympathy patronizingly condescending. “They’re acting on my orders, we’re just… ‘borrowing’ a few of these so that the people of Rome can see them and admire the art your people have produced.” Turning his head upward, Greece caught the twitch of a smirk on Rome’s lip, “We’ll return them… probably.”

It had been mere days since Rome had arrived at the palace, his soldiers clad in silver and red stormed across the Greek Kingdoms, pillaging and claiming whatever they put their mind to. While Greece could feel the will of his people rebelling, feel them trying to push back, the weight of their strength and conviction was no match for the Romans.

Turkey had warned him. Sadiq had warned him. And that was the worst part, he had to admit that someone he loathed that much had been right, and that perhaps there had been some honesty to his twisted words.

Since Rome’s arrival, Greece hadn’t seen his mother, he hadn’t been allowed to see her. His every move was controlled and watched by Rome’s men, and if he showed any signs of resistance then Rome himself would appear to throw him back to his room.

“Turkey was right about you,” the words escaped him before he could stop them, “You and Germania, you’re monsters.”

This only made the older looking Nation laugh.

“Monsters? That’s a little dramatic.” He released Greece’s scruff, but his hovered close enough to easily grab it again if Greece made any sign of rebelling. “Perhaps I was a little… pushy with some of those other Nations, but you’re different, you and your mother. I have nothing but respect for the both of you.”

Liar.

“Think of this more as a partnership,” Rome shrugged, “I may be the one calling the shots, but I don’t intend to harm either of you. Your culture can continue to blossom, and I’ll even let you go on calling the gods whatever you want, and, in return Rome will benefit from the experience of having such cultured and talented neighbours. The gods know we could do with one,” he let out another bark of laughter. “Besides I actually have a job for you.”

A powerful hand tightened around Greece’s arm, and he felt himself being dragged down the palace hall, unable to free himself from the vice-like grip.

He wanted to argue with the man, tear down his ridiculous argument. Although he couldn’t put his finger on how exactly it was true, he knew that this whole situation would benefit Rome far more than it benefitted him and his mother, and considering her already weakened state…

“Here we are.”

Rome all but threw him through a set of doors, sending Greece sprawling into the rather ornate room ahead of him. This was not a room of the palace that he’d been permitted to enter before.

It was decorated with interesting objects, many of which appeared exotic, with high walls stacked with thick set scrolls. The office of his country’s ruler, and now apparently the nursery to a rather small looking child, who was sucking rather heavily on his fist.

The child couldn’t have been older than three, in fact Greece would have put him closer to two. Could this… was this really Feliciano? If so, the kid had to have set a record for slow aging, even by Nation standards.

“My grandson, he could do with a playmate who’s… kind of his own age…” Rome sounded rather uncertain about this statement, after all he and Greece were far closer in true age, than Greece was with the small boy blinking up at him.

However, the confusion didn’t seem to bother Rome to much as he spun back to the door. “Play nice…” He paused, one hand resting against the curve of the open door, “and if you harm him in anyway I will tear you and your mother to pieces.” With those darkened words spoken, the door closed, leaving Greece and the younger Nation alone.

Feliciano gurgled uncertainly, before rising to his feet, stumbling over to Greece to seize hold of the front of his tunic with a wide grin.

“Ciao” the boy beamed, in a tone that suggested something of a greeting, before blinking twice and correcting himself to “Salve.”

What Latin Greece spoke was very minimal, his mother had only seen the point in teaching him the basics, and what little he did know he was far better at reading than he was actually speaking. But of course, the little Nation would only speak Latin, Rome probably hadn’t taught him anything else.

“Salve” Greece repeated back, mimicking the smaller boy’s pronunciation.

But, as innocent as this little ward of Rome’s seemed, Greece was not content to just sit here while his mother could be suffering elsewhere. He wasn’t a typical pushover Nation that Rome had encountered before, he’d driven Turkey and the Persian Empire out of his country, and almost invaded that jerk’s land right back, he wasn’t about to sit here and babysit now.

Reaching the doors, Greece pulled. The doors however, remained firm, Rome must have locked them behind him.

“Pethikalopeks!” Greece cursed loudly, uttering a word his mother would have paled to hear him say, but the only one around to hear him was a kid who didn’t understand Greek anyway.

“Peth?” Feliciano questioned, stabilising himself against the desk, one hand poised to help him keep balance. “Peth quid mean?” The boy’s voice ended on a slightly higher note which made his words sound like a question, and Greece could take a guess at what he was asking.

“A rude word don’t repeat it.” Of course, his answer wouldn’t be understood either. “Rudis.” He wasn’t sure if that was the right word, or if he was saying it properly, but hopefully Feliciano would understand.

The child did, as he clasped his hands tightly around his mouth looking horrified.

Was this really Rome’s grandchild? Greece had heard enough about Rome to know that he swore fairly routinely in the bars or during battles, was it really possible Feliciano had never picked any of them up.

Sighing, Greece gave the doors another small jerk, but they remained closed.

“Quid agis?”

“I’m trying to get out of here to find my mother!” He knew nothing would come out of snapping at the child, and that it would win him no favours with Rome, but in the short-term it made him feel a little better, “Mater mea!”

“Mater tua?”

Yes.

“Ita” Greece nodded angrily.

Even if he did know the words to explain the entire situation, Feliciano would probably be far too young to actually understand what his grandfather had done, what he was doing as they spoke.

He’d gotten strong in order to protect his mother, protect her from forces like this that would do her harm, but he still wasn’t good enough. He hadn’t grown enough to take on Rome.

Sinking down to the floor, Greece buried his head in his lap, drawing his knees tightly towards his chest. Every part of his body was trembling, and while no tears fell, he could feel a hot swelling mass in his chest, choking up his throat painfully as he sank into despair.

They were the same age. He and Rome were the same age, and yet the other Nation had grown so much more than him, and he had become so much more powerful. The same was true of Turkey and Germania, and, even Egypt was showing all the signs that suggested he was about to overtake him. Why was he so weak!?

Taking a sharp breath, Greece looked up, surprised by the small and cold hand on his leg.

The tiny Nation was looking at him sadly, sniffing a little as tears trickled down his own cheeks. “Cur es tristis?” Feliciano asked, his voice high as he did his best to wipe the fat tears away.

Greece didn’t understand him, but he understood that the younger Nation was concerned for him, concerned enough to actually be crying on his behalf.

“Are you really Rome’s grandson?”

“Romae avo?” Feliciano shook his head, concentrating, “Grandpa Rome?”

He’d just managed to pull a few words together in Greek, just enough for Greece to understand those two words. Feliciano certainly understood Rome to be his grandfather then, but who knew what was really true. Greece wasn’t even completely sure how he was related to his own mother.

Sighing, Greece relaxed again, and reached forward to tap Feliciano’s arm. “Look, don’t cry… I’m not angry with you, even if I do hate your grandfather. I’m just worried about my mother…”

Feliciano tilted his head, making a confused sound as he did so.

“You see she’s dying… and I’m supposed to take her place as the Nation of Greece, but… I don’t know if I can do it without her, she’s been with me for almost as far back as I can remember…” He knew that Feliciano didn’t understand, but somehow that made him easier to speak to. He didn’t have to worry about Turkey or Egypt turning this into something bigger than it was or debating philosophy with him over the question. The simple truth, and the only truth that mattered, was that soon he would be alone.

He looked up at the younger Nation to see Feliciano frowning thoughtfully, his face tight with concentration as he tried to figure out something he could say that would be understood, in response to a whole speech that he didn’t understand in the first place.

“It’s okay,” Greece shook his head, tapping Feliciano’s shoulder once more.

He didn’t consider himself to be a ‘hugger’ so didn’t particularly want to get that intimate with the grandson of the man who had just invaded his home and pillaged his palace, but he wanted to reassure Feliciano at the same time.

“Look, I should probably introduce myself. My name is Greece,” he pointed to himself and emphasised his name, “You’re Feliciano?” He pointed to the smaller Nation and emphasised his name as well, hoping that the tiny child would understand.

Feliciano’s expression broke into a smile and he nodded enthusiastically, “Italia” he nodded, pointing to himself, “Italy!”

Italy? That wasn’t a word Greece knew, but Feliciano was pointing to himself excitedly. Was that… was that his Nation name?

Greece knew that Nation names didn’t always match the country, after all, Turkey was the Nation of Persia.

The boy pointed to himself again, “Feliciano,” he then made a wide sweeping motion with his arms, “Italy.”

This only seemed to further prove Greece’s guess.

So, with great uncertainty, but just to check he’d understood. He pointed to himself, “Herakles,” and then made the same motion as Feliciano, “Greece.”

The younger boy nodded, looking rather excited now.

He pointed towards the door, “Romeo,” then made the circling motion again, “Rome.”

Romeo? Was Feliciano telling him Rome’s human name? Greece hadn’t even known that the Roman invader had one, he’d certainly never heard it. Did that mean Germania had a human name as well?

It made sense he supposed. After all, they’d all started somewhere, usually in the arms of some human who had given them a name.

So, who had named Feliciano? Had that been Rome? Why would any Nation give another Nation a human name?

While he’d been lost in thought, Feliciano had hurried back over to the patch of carpet where he’d first been when Greece had been thrown into the room. He proceeded to pick up a small piece of chalk and scribble something on a slate tablet he had, before lifting it up to show Greece.

It was… It was a picture, a rather good one at that, considering how small Feliciano was.

“Is that us?” He motioned this question out by pointing to both himself and the other Nation, watching as he nodded happily.

Sitting down beside Feliciano so he could take a better look, Greece tilted his head. It was a slightly stylised version of them, but it was recognisable all the same. “You’re rather good at drawing, here, let me show you mine.” Reaching for a blank tablet, he then held out his hand for the chalk that Feliciano handed over without any fuss.

For a few moments Greece concentrated, not wanting to be upstaged by someone so much younger than him.

It was a very different drawing style to Feliciano’s, dark solid shapes that made up the form of two people, although he had done his best to show the two of them as indicated by the strange curls they both had.

“I wonder if all Nations have these?” He pointed to the curls on the picture, remembering the curl that graced the back of Turkey’s neck. He’d never seen one on Egypt, but then again, the other boy always tended to wear a turban around his head, so it was hard to tell. Rome certainly had one, as did his mother, and then Feliciano seemed to have one as well.

Feliciano touched his own, crossing his brown eyes as he tried to look up at it.

“Non puto suus 'ridiculam.”

Greece had no idea what that meant, but touched his own thoughtfully, “I think it’s kind of funny.”

For two Nations who didn’t speak the same language, with such an age difference between them, and such tension around them, Greece hadn’t expected to find himself getting on so well with Feliciano. But there was just something about this small Nation that made him almost impossible to hate, he was too wide-eyed, too naïve, and just far too kind.

“You can’t be related to Rome,” Greece shook his head again. He just couldn’t believe it.


	19. Paradis

**52 BC – Rome Founds Lutetia, the future Paris**

“So, what do you think?”

Feliciano craned his head around in every direction it could go in, taking in the majesty of this new city from the perch on his grandfather’s shoulder.

Over the last few centuries he’d been a great many places with his grandfather, but this was the first time he’d actually been able to see a city in development. It was beautiful, even with the scaffolding still in place, and the a few of the streets unpaved, Feliciano could already see the potential in this place.

“It’s pretty” he beamed, pointing out his hand towards one of the completed buildings. A tall pale white diplomatic building of some sort, with pillars spready out evenly at the front, spiralling up to support its lofty heights. “That one is pretty.”

Feliciano was aware that there were more words he could use than ‘pretty’, but it was a good word to sum all of this up without having to tie his tongue around the longer ones like ‘beautiful’.

“Well I’m glad you like it” his grandfather laughed, “I’ve been putting a lot of work into it, got to mark out this place as my own now I’ve gotten it off Germania.”

“Your friend?”

His grandfather laughed again, although this time Feliciano sensed there was a little more force to it. “No, not my friend Feliciano, I’ve told you before. But, it doesn’t matter anyway, we’ve driven him out to the east.”

His grandfather’s relationship with Germania was something Feliciano didn’t really understand. One moment he’d be grinning and telling a story about how the two of them had played with wooden swords by the border when they were children, and the next he’d be telling him all about what a vicious savage the other Nation was.

Sometimes it sounded like his grandfather was talking about a friend he cared a great deal about, and then at other times it sounded like he didn’t like him.

Adults had confusing relationships.

Feliciano had promised to himself he’d never let anything be that complicated for him. He’d be friends with everyone, and then there wouldn’t be a problem.

He was already friends with Greece, and being friends had become a lot easier now that the older Nation was picking up Latin. Try as he might Feliciano just hadn’t been able to figure out Greek, with the exception of a couple of simple words. Speaking Latin was hard enough as it was without adding another language to the mix.

“Sir.”

A rather important looking man bowed his head, Feliciano hadn’t noticed him approaching.

“What is it?” His grandfather sounded frustrated by the arrival of the man, but when he caught Feliciano’s eye he smiled again.

His grandfather always smiled around him, and Feliciano hoped that was a good thing. It wasn’t good when his grandfather was angry or upset, and he certainly didn’t like it when others said terrible things about him.

That was the one downside to Greece speaking Latin. Whenever they would meet up, Greece would spend quite some time trying to convince him that his grandfather was some sort of horrible invader. But Feliciano just couldn’t see it. His grandfather went places and made them beautiful, he was cheery and friendly, he helped… That surely wasn’t a bad thing?

“I just wanted to ask for your preference between two designs, it won’t take a moment.”

“Very well.” Grandpa Rome lifted him carefully off his shoulders and set the small boy down on the floor. “I’ll be a short while, feel free to explore if you’d like, I’ll find you when I’m done.”

This happened quite a lot when his grandfather was busy, so the concept of being left to wander around by himself didn’t particularly bother the three-year-old looking boy. He couldn’t get hurt after all, and he knew from his grandfather’s insistent lessons that he should never walk off with strangers or listen to them, even if they offered him treats in return.

There was a lot to explore, and Feliciano wasn’t quite sure where to start. Glancing along the road and over his shoulder, he figured that the part of the city behind him looked more fully constructed, so he’d start over there.

A few of the locals might have started to move in, so maybe the streets would be busy as well.

There was something Feliciano loved about a busy street, particularly if there were stalls and food. It just gave of a wonderful radiance of life. Individuals, each with their own lives, rushing alongside one another without ever truly realising how special each and every one of them was. But Feliciano knew, because he watched. He’d spent many hours in Rome watching the lives of the people play out like an elaborate play, he’d seen romance, murder, crime and tragedy, all improvised by the actors who played out the story of their lives.

The streets however, were not as busy as Feliciano would have liked. A couple of people here and there, but mostly just Roman soldiers ensuring that people didn’t access the restricted areas.

Well then, he might as well find somewhere he could admire until his grandfather was finished.

Considering each building in turn on the square he’d found himself in, Feliciano eventually picked out a theatre. It was being guarded by soldiers, but he knew they wouldn’t dare stop him from entering.

Approaching the building, Feliciano dipped his head politely as the soldiers quickly scrambled back to let him by.

“You be careful little Feliciano” they told him, “Those stairs are very steep, and we wouldn’t want you to tire out your legs on the stairs.”

“I’ll be careful” he promised them, although really there was nothing to worry about. He never got hurt, his grandfather told him that it was what made Nations special, and if he got tired then he’d just stop for a nap.

Entering the theatre, Feliciano did see that they’d been right about how steep the stairs to the seats were, so he opted to look around the ground level instead. There was still plenty of interesting stuff down here, namely the stage itself and the back-storage room where various props donated by one of the Roman theatres were stored.

It must be fun to recite lines on a stage, to tell a story and bewitch the audience into believing it was real.

“I wonder if I’d be any good at it” Feliciano wondered aloud as he examined a prop that looked a lot like a wall with a tiny hole big enough to peer through at the centre.

Bending down to look through, Feliciano jolted back as a high and demanding sound flared into life.

Looking around wildly for the source of the noise, Feliciano took a cautious step back. Grandpa Rome said that if he ever felt he was in danger or didn’t know what was happening, then he should run away and find him.

“Hello?” Perhaps it was just a cat.

For a few moments there was silence, and then another sound, smaller this time, but with the same demanding tone. No animal made a noise like that.

Clambering over the props and storage equipment, Feliciano crawled to the back corner of the room where the noise seemed to be coming from. Making each step with nervous trepidation, making sure he had an exit route secured if he needed it.

“Hello?” He called again, “Is someone there?”

As he reached the furthest corner of the room, climbing over the last of the boxes, Feliciano discovered the origin of the noise. A… A baby?

A very small baby with startling blue eyes, Feliciano had never seen anything like it before, although it reminded him of the stories his grandfather told of Germania’s piercing blue stare.

“What are you doing here?”

The baby didn’t reply but reached out his tiny hands to take hold of Italy’s fingers, tugging hard.

What should he do?

He couldn’t just leave the baby here, but he couldn’t carry him out either. Even if he was strong enough to lift the tiny thing, he wouldn’t be able to navigate through the boxes again without hurting them.

“Wait here.”

Turning around, Feliciano navigated his way back around the boxes and props to the main stage, and from there back to the door where he found the soldiers still guarding the entrance patiently.

“I need help” he explained, “There’s a baby in there.”

To his surprise the soldiers didn’t act right away, but instead exchanged confused looks and repeated what he’d said in muttered voices, while glancing at each other.

“A baby” he repeated, just in case they hadn’t heard him probably the first time, “There’s a baby, I can’t carry him out, I need help.”

It seemed like the message finally sank in, because one of the soldiers nodded. “Where is it?”

“The back corner of the prop’s room,” Feliciano moved to go with them, but the other soldiers held him back. “You should stay here little Feliciano, just in case, don’t worry.”

And so, Feliciano was forced to wait for the soldier to return, knowing full well this whole thing would go a lot faster if they’d just let him show them where the baby was. Human children weren’t like Nation children, he could be sick, or hungry, he would need a lot of care, and as much faith as Feliciano had in his grandfather’s men, he didn’t think they would make particularly good caregivers.

The big question was, what is a baby even doing in there? It was an odd place to abandon such a small child, and surely it would have been impossible for anybody to have sneaked past the soldiers, particularly with a baby in their arms.

Thankfully the soldier returned shortly, the tiny child in his arms.

“You were right… wow, how do you think he got there?”

Standing on his tiptoes, Feliciano tried to get another look. Despite his usually pleasant nature, he was becoming a little frustrated by the way the baby he’d found was already being taken away from him.

“Here you are Feliciano.”

Looking up with relief, the young Roman Nation waved a hand to his grandfather who was strolling over to the group. He’d ensure that this child was at least given into the right hands.

However, as his grandfather grew closer, Feliciano saw him frown, his eyes drawn towards the child still in the arms of the soldier who had retrieved him.

“Where did you get that?” His tone was sharp and suspicious, gaze flickering between the baby and Feliciano, although his question was addressed to the soldier.

“I found him” Feliciano cut in helpfully, “He was at the back of the theatre, someone must have abandoned him, and…” Whatever Feliciano had been expecting to happen, it certainly wasn’t the sight of his grandfather drawing his sword and pointing it to the baby’s throat.

Letting out a small and panicked yelp, his hands instinctively reached forward. He couldn’t pull the child away, and he couldn’t stop his grandfather, he wasn’t even sure he knew how to tell Grandpa Rome not to do something, but he couldn’t bare the idea of just letting it happen.

Thankfully, after a moment of thought, Rome handed the sword to one of the other soldiers. “Kill it.”

His momentarily relief vanished, and Feliciano threw himself forward. “No” he pressed, “You can’t kill him, he’s only a baby.”

The soldier appeared to be hesitating as well.

“I said kill it!”

For that brief moment Feliciano wasn’t sure he recognised the man he was looking up at. His tone was sharp and vicious, face contorted in fury and… fear?

The soldier didn’t hesitate a second time, bringing the sword point down heavily over the baby’s heart.

Crying out, Feliciano buried his head in his grandfather’s knee, clutching at it for comfort.

How… how could his grandfather have asked such a thing?

Something sharp hit the back of his head, coinciding with the sound of shattering steel.

What?

Very, very slowly, Feliciano turned, terrified of what he might be about to see.

But, when he heard the indignant cry of a baby, he allowed himself to turn fully, taking in the obscure sight. The soldier holding the baby was wincing, several shards of metal sticking out of the side of his neck, the second soldier was also gasping, similar shattered pieces impaled in his arms and face. The baby however, was completely unharmed.

“As I thought,” his grandfather gritted his teeth, snatching the baby from the soldier’s arms roughly, leaving the man to tend to his wounds.

The indignant cry stopped, only to be replaced by a more genuine and frightened cry.

“Grandpa Rome,” Feliciano tugged at his grandfather’s leg desperately, “Please don’t.” He wasn’t sure how the baby had survived the sword strike, but he still knew that you shouldn’t treat babies that roughly.

“It’s not a baby Feliciano” his grandfather explained, holding the small child at arm’s length to keep away from its sobs. “It’s a Nation.”

A Nation… Like them?

Excitement bubbled up in Feliciano’s chest.

“That… That’s good isn’t it?”

“Not good for me” Rome frowned, looking for a brief moment like he was about to drop the child. “I own this land, it is a part of me… so why should there be another Nation here?” The question was rhetorical, but Feliciano couldn’t help but speak in response.

“But I’m here?” His grandfather loved him, and they both shared land.

Finally, a smile traced its way back over his grandfather’s face again, and he returned to looking like the man Feliciano loved so much.

“That’s different my little Feliciano, you’re my kin. This however…”

“But that doesn’t mean he’s bad. You own Greece’s land to…” …and he’s still alive. Feliciano did not add that last part, and it came with several implications he didn’t particularly want to consider.

His grandfather’s grip tensed uncertainly. “Does this really mean that much to you?”

Quickly, Feliciano nodded.

Taking a small and quick breath of relief when his grandfather moved the younger Nation closer to his chest and shook his head, rocking the baby slowly until he stopped crying. “Very well…” He bent down, and held out a free hand to Feliciano, who quickly took it. “I need to return to Rome; however, it is important that somebody oversees the construction of this city. Do you… do you think you can handle it?”

Feliciano frowned with confusion.

“You’re growing up now… and I need to teach you how to do things. Overlooking the city’s construction might be a good start, and you can keep an eye on this one while you’re here.”

“But what about you?”

“I’ll come back and visit, and when the city is finished I will take you back to Rome with me.”

He was going to be left here?

Feliciano knew that his grandfather would accept his refusal, in fact there was a chance he was hoping that he would. But… he was right, this was a chance to do something for himself, and a chance to make sure that nothing happened to the baby Nation.

“Okay…” he nodded slowly, a part of him already regretting his answer, “But… you’ll come and visit often?”

His grandfather smiled sadly and nodded, “Of course I will.”


	20. They Grow Up So Fast

It was strange, but since his grandfather had left him, Feliciano felt himself actually aging. He’d grown from the body of a three-year-old, which he had occupied for as long as he could remember, to that of something more akin to a ten-year-old. It was bizarre, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of this change that occurred over the next few decades, but it helped a little that Francis seemed to be matching his pace, so they seemed to resemble the same age.

Francis was the name Feliciano had given to the baby they’d discovered in the palace, although the other Nation had also given himself the name France which he insisted on the humans addressing him as, often in a slightly obnoxious way.

However, he always permitted Feliciano to call him Francis, and would grin about it like he’d bestowed a great gift.

Francis had become a little difficult since passing the physical age of five, but beneath all that loud pride and vanity, he had a good and bold heart. That was how Feliciano would have described him at least, and he often did whenever Francis was being particularly troublesome.

“So, what are we doing today?” It was phrased as a question, but Feliciano knew that Francis would soon be answering it himself. Not that Feliciano particularly minded, it was often easier to go along with what the younger Nation wanted to do. He wasn’t particularly used to making choices by himself. When he was with his grandfather, he made the decisions; when he visited Greece, the Greek Nation would dictate what they did; and it was the same with Francis.

But still, Feliciano felt he should offer a small suggestion. “Perhaps we could do some sculpting?”

Art was one of the few things that the two of them had in common, and it was one of the very few activities they did where Francis would actually sit still for a couple of hours, rather than hyperactively finding hills to roll down or scaling the tallest buildings he could find in the city.

While Feliciano knew the other Nation was technically younger than him, he was pretty sure he had never been this much of a handful to his grandfather.

Francis did at least seem to consider his suggestion for a few moments, before shrugging, “Nah, let’s go see what’s happening in the market.” He seized Feliciano’s hand, almost aggressively, and began pulling the other boy in the direction of the main city square.

They ended up spending most of the morning browsing the stalls, chatting with passers-by, and balancing around the edge of the fountain.

It was just after Francis had fallen in for the second time, that he finally settled, sitting down on the edge next to the young Roman Nation with a sigh. For about five minutes, there was simply silence, allowing Feliciano to catch his breath again while Francis mulled over his own thoughts.

“Feliciano… Who was it who gave you that name?”

It was an odd question.

“My grandfather” the slightly shorter Nation replied, he didn’t see anything wrong with answering Francis’ question after all. He was just confused as to why Francis was asking about it.

Francis hummed, tilting his head slightly. “You know those dreams, the ones you told me were normal?”

The dreams about the field?

They were odd dreams, but Feliciano had been having them as long as he could remember. He was always vaguely aware that he wasn’t alone there, but it was only after Francis had been found that he actually encountered someone else there. The blonde Nation had been confused, and rather distressed, being very young at the time. So, Feliciano had just explained that they seemed to be normal, and there was nothing to worry about when he had them.

“What about them?”

Francis tilted his head the other way. “Nothing really… I was just wondering… where do we actually come from?”

That was a question Feliciano found oddly disturbing to contemplate. Greece had tried to have it with him once, and the following night Feliciano had been plagued by nightmares. They were unclear, blurred, it was so hard to focus. But, there was a woman, a man and another boy… no, there was another baby to… and then, a second man arrived with blood in his wake.

He’d done his best after that to just put all thought of that stupid question from his mind, at least until Francis brought it up again.

Laughing lightly, Feliciano splashed at the water in the fountain playfully, trying to encourage the less attentive part of Francis’ mind again. “I don’t think it really matters, after all human babies appear all the time, right?”

This seemed to work, as Francis’ pupils were already beginning to dilate at the sight of the flickering droplets of water. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Without warning, the pale and obscure looking Nation tackled Feliciano into the water, grinning the whole while as they both were temporarily submerged under the shallow water, before resurfacing again, Feliciano gasping for breath.

Francis remained distracted until they headed home that evening, back to the fancy apartment his grandfather was paying for them to stay in. It wasn’t as grand or nice as the palace he lived in back in Rome, but it was comfortable and had many familiar decorations and furniture pieces from home. His grandfather brought them something new every time he came to visit.

Francis however, seemed to adore it, and forever insisted on adding his own touches, even if that meant just throwing Feliciano’s things out without asking him first. But… it was okay, after all, this was more Francis’ home than his.

Construction on the city was almost complete, and that meant he’d be able to return to his own home again soon.

“How many Nations are there?” Francis brought up while they were walking back, “I know there’s you and Rome, but your grandfather is always talking about some guy named Germania, and you said there’s a guy called Greece?”

“Oh…” The young Roman Nation thought to himself, “Well, apart from the ones you just mentioned, there’s Greece’s mother; Egypt and his mother… Turkey…” He was straining, there must be more than that.

He’d never met anyone other than France in the dream-fields, but he was certainly aware that there were others there apart from them. That and… well it sounded rather silly to admit out loud.

“What’s wrong?” Francis caught his shift in expression, and he wasn’t deterred when Feliciano quickly adjusted his features back into a smile.

“It’s nothing really… I was just thinking about who else might be out there…” Unconsciously he placed one of his small hands over his heart, as if something deep down was paining him, “I just sometimes feel like I know someone’s there, but I have no idea how to reach them…”

“In the dream-fields?” Francis was confused, and Feliciano didn’t blame him, after all, he barely knew what he was talking about. There was just this empty feeling inside him, as if he were missing a part of himself he’d been deprived of for too long.

He held out the hand he’d been holding over his heart and examined it closely. “Yes… but also, I feel like someone else should be here. It’s like…” He thought for a good example, running over everything he’d ever read, and every piece of art he’d ever studied. “It’s like I’m only half of a whole, and that there’s someone out there somewhere who’s meant to complete me, like I’m meant to complete them.” It was the best way he could think of putting it into words.

Francis however, only sniggered. “What like a lover?” He snorted, as if the word he’d just said was something dirty they shouldn’t be talking about. “I heard some guy saying something like that to this girl outside the apartment a while back, it made me cringe so much.” Distracted with his own laughter, Francis lost interest in Feliciano’s tightening expression.

No. It wasn’t like that…

Francis didn’t understand. He wasn’t like him… he didn’t have any ties that made him a part of a family. That was one of the ways in which Francis was fairly unique, the only other Nation like him that Feliciano knew of was Turkey. A rather violet and savage Nation his grandfather had told him to keep away from.

But… Francis didn’t seem to be like that. Sure, he was a little… self-centred, but he was still young, so perhaps that was normal. He was a tad bit bossy, but Greece was also a bit like that, so that wasn’t something wholly unusual.

It did however, reassure Feliciano of something. This pining feeling that he felt, it was for someone who shared a bond with him, similar to the one he shared with his grandfather. Family.

Back at the apartment, Francis quickly began putting dinner together, insisting that it was his turn to cook, and he couldn’t put up with one more day of what Feliciano called cooking. He was overexaggerating, Feliciano knew that much, as Francis did always eat and enjoy the food he cooked, he just liked to remind Feliciano that he thought he was better.

Francis’ cooking wasn’t bad actually. When he’d been younger, Feliciano had let the blonde Nation help him out in the kitchen from time-to-time, and Francis had developed rather a flare and passion for it, adding variations all over the place until his food barely resembled its origins anymore.

With dinner finished, and Francis keeping himself occupied with some project he had going, Feliciano found his way through the hall to his own bedroom, where he quickly took up his bed and closed his eyes.

Who are you? Were his last thoughts before the darkness of sleep took over him.

When Feliciano awoke to find himself in the dream-field, he was not surprised or alarmed. This was fairly typical, at least half his nights seemed to bring him here. Sometimes he was with Francis, and other times he wasn’t. The blonde Nation wasn’t here with him at the moment though, probably because he was still awake in reality.

He was set up in the usual spot, the large tree stretching out above his head, its trunk impossibly far away. He’d tried to reach it a few times but had always given up when he discovered every time he came back here his starting point was reset back to the last place he’d woken up.

There wasn’t much to do here, but Feliciano was satisfied with that. He was perfectly content to simply lie back and watch the dark hue of the starry sky between the entangled, shifting branches of the tree.

It held no answers, and it asked him no questions. Feliciano was simply allowed to be at peace here.

“Who are you?”

Feliciano rose quickly, turning to look in the direction the mysterious voice had come from.

There was… someone else here?

“My name is Feliciano” he introduced himself.

Whoever had spoken had hidden themselves amongst the tall blades of grass, keeping their appearance hidden from his sight.

“Who… Are you a Nation as well?”

The grass rustled, before a nervous and irritated voice replied, “I don’t know what that is, but, why are you here? Usually its just me in this dream, there isn’t supposed to be anyone else here!”

Now that he was listening more carefully, Feliciano could tell that the voice belonged to someone younger, it was just ever so slightly higher, and the phrasing was clumsier, as if their tongue hadn’t quite figured its way around yet.

Perhaps he was mistaken. Maybe the grass was just talking to him now.

The grass rustled again, and then, from amongst the blades appeared a small dark-haired face. His skin, hair and eyes were a little darker than Feliciano’s own, but there was something oddly familiar about his face shape and that single curl of hair.

“What’s your name?” The Roman Nation asked, giving the younger boy a warm and reassuring smile.

“Not supposed to talk to strangers” the boy muttered back, puffing up his cheeks.

“Oh…” Well that made sense, Rome had often told him the same thing. “But I told you my name, so that means we’re not really strangers anymore.” That made sense didn’t it?

The other boy considered this, puffed out his cheeks a little more, until he was almost bright red in the face, before taking a breath and nodding, “s’ppose so” he shrugged, eyeing Feliciano with one more suspicious look before emerging in his entirety from the grass.

He wasn’t that much younger than Feliciano, seven perhaps, which would suggest at the very least he couldn’t be that young of a Nation. It was so difficult to tell sometimes though. His clothes appeared rather ragged though, very different to the rich materials and clothes Feliciano was used to seeing on Nations.

“Lovino” the boy muttered.

“Lovino?”

“My name is Lovino.” The other boy’s face was turning red again, although this time it seemed to be with embarrassment. Feliciano was getting the strong impression that he shouldn’t actually mention this to the other boy though, however sweet it was.

“It’s nice to meet you Lovino, where is it that you live?”

The boy seemed to bottle up again, shaking his head wildly.

“Okay, okay,” Feliciano held out a hand to calm him, “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. I’m from Rome, although I’ve been living in Lutetia the last few decades with another Nation my grandfather told me to keep an eye on, and…”

Lovino suddenly lunged forward, his hands hovering just in front of Feliciano’s chest, as if he’d been about to grab the front of his tunic, before thinking better of it. “You’re… You’re like me?” The other boy’s dark brown eyes widened, and Feliciano could practically here the heartbeat rapidly beating in his chest. “You said ‘decades’, right? Does that mean you’re like me?”

“I… I suppose so… how long have you been around for?” A little taken aback and uncertain by Lovino’s sudden and rapt attention, Feliciano took a step back.

“I don’t know… a millennia… maybe?” He didn’t sound too certain, but it was enough to catch the older Nation off-guard.

A millennium? How had nobody else noticed him in that time? How had he not discovered who or what he was? Surely rumours must have spread if there was a child living for that long without aging properly.

“Has no one around you noticed?” Feliciano knew this was a silly question, but he had to ask it, after all this was an unbelievable situation.

“Sort of… I guess… I don’t tend to stay around others that long,” Lovino rung his hands together uncertainly, “I lived with my dad, he took us to Lingurían…” The other boy squirmed uncomfortably before continuing, “then he died, and I found another village, but I didn’t like them, so I moved again…”

“Wait? You’re on your own?”

Lovino nodded, “I sometimes stay with people for a bit when they feed me, but I don’t like being around them… I can’t do anything to help, and they just die eventually…” There was something unsaid, but Feliciano could piece it together. It sounded like Lovino disliked the idea of being a burden on those with mortal lives that were wasted caring for a child that would never grow up.

That was something he’d never had to experience and feel. His grandfather was just as immortal as he was, so nothing about the care and investment seemed wasted. Feliciano was sure that he’d get the chance to repay his grandfather when he was older.

But still, Lingurían was under his grandfather’s control, it was odd to think this other Nation had been so close all this time.

“Are you still in Lingurían?”

Lovino shook his head, “I got bored with it, too many fancy Roman stuff all over the place lately.”

That offended Feliciano a little, and he wanted to argue back that the Roman Empire was one of the most beautiful places on earth, but he decided sharply that this wasn’t the best time for that.

He opened his mouth again, about to suggest that perhaps he could find Lovino and bring him back to Rome, when the other boy began to fade. He was waking up, and no doubt Feliciano was about to do the same.

“I’ll see you again” Feliciano promised, “And I’ll help!”

He wasn’t sure if Lovino even heard his words, but the next thing he knew, Feliciano was awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's wondering why Romano is younger than Italy, it's just because of the weird way Nations seem to age. Feliciano's had a bit more experience so he presents himself as older.


	21. Death in the Family

**30 BC – The Fall of Ancient Greece**

“What’s happening!?” Greece tightened his jaw as he tried to force his way past the Roman soldiers blocking his path, “If you don’t let me pass I’ll bring down the wrath of Zeus upon you!”

The scrawny boy was no match for the soldiers though, as they simply pushed him away again.

His mother was sick. She was weak and sick, and all while Rome was hovering around over her. He’d hurt her, or worse, he’d kill her, he needed to be there to protect her. There was nothing for it.

He’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to actually spring an attack, but they had left him with no other choice. Drawing the knife from the hidden pocket in his tunic, Greece drove the blade heavily into the leg of the nearest soldier.

There was no time to even process the howl of pain, he had to take advantage of the distraction while it was there.

Bending around the other soldier’s stunned arms, he ran the length of the hallways, turning along each familiar path, hoping that his mother hadn’t been moved from her room. The knife was tightly secured in his grasp, it wouldn’t do much against Rome, he knew that. But to go in empty handed would be even more foolish.

Throwing open the doors, he finally reached her rooms. They were empty, save from the feeble woman lying out on the bed.

She had changed so much these past few centuries. Her youthful appearance had drained from her, her skin had lost its gentle smoothness, and her previously beautiful and thick dark brown hair was now wiry and grey. Even now Greece barely recognised her as the same woman who had raised him, the one who had commanded armies and diplomats, and been complemented across Europe for her graceful beauty.

“Mamá?” He held out a hand as he braced against the side of her bed, searching for her fragile fingers.

“Greece…” Her eyes opened slowly, pupils flickering towards him as she took in his appearance, “You came?”

“I stabbed one of the soldiers in the leg to reach you” he confessed boldly, “They wouldn’t let me see you, but it’s okay, I’ll protect you from Rome.” The other Nation had already been informed of his mother’s condition, and no doubt he would be on his way to see things finished by his own hand.

She smiled gently at him, reaching out her other hand to caress through his hair.

“My wonderful son… My… My time is at an end…”

Greece shook his head, “No, it isn’t, I can protect you… I can drive the Roman soldiers out, I can do it before Rome gets here and…”

“No,” she shook her head, mustering what little courage she had left. “I’m dying.” The older Nation’s voice trembled, “I’ve known that this day would come since we learned of your existence. A successor is not necessary unless their parent’s rule is fated to end.”

She dropped her hand from his hair to instead touch the dagger which was resting uncertainly on the sheets.

“I have only two options open to me, but they both end the same way. Either I will kill myself, or another Nation must kill me.”

Realising what she meant, Greece quickly placed his hand over the blade to weigh it down, as her own grip tightened around the hilt.

“There must be another way.” There had to be. What she’d presented to him wasn’t a choice, there were no viable options.

“I do not wish for Rome to hold the satisfaction…” Her grip relaxed, and she lay back once more. “If you will not let me carry out the deed myself then I must ask you…” she didn’t move, although Greece felt the weight of her gaze on him all the same, “…you are my successor and therefore the only one I deem worthy to end my life, because I will die knowing that this act helped you to succeed and grow stronger.”

“Y-You aren’t saying…” Standing up, Greece moved as far away from the knife as he could, while still remaining by his mother’s side. “I… You can’t ask me to…”

“Then allow me to do it myself,” her hand reached out for the knife again, causing Greece to rush back and stop her. His mother’s anger was hot on the back of his neck, she did not relax her hand as she had done last time. “I cannot allow Rome to be the one to end my life” she snarled, “Do you not understand? If Rome is the one to kill Greece, how can we ever expect this country to recover? But if you are to do it, then you are simply killing the old Greece, and allowing a new, stronger one to take its place.”

No. His heart was pounding in his chest, the blood pumping across his vision left him dizzy and blind to everything else around them. From a philosophical perspective he could see the rationality with which she spoke, but to actually do it…

Footsteps outside. They were out of time.

She tugged on the knife, but Greece’s hand remained where it was. He couldn’t act, but he couldn’t allow her to do so either.

The door was thrown open.

“Get that fucking brat away from her!”

Rome was here.

The hairs on Greece’s neck were standing on end, he didn’t need to turn to know that soldiers were running towards him.

Don’t think. Act!

Fixing his hand around the hilt of the blade, Greece lunged towards his mother, plunging it deep into her chest.

“No!” Rome’s large hand seized his hair, throwing him backwards away from the bed, but the deed was already done.

Blood flowed from the wound across his hand, the place where he’d gripped the knife. Instinctively Greece used his other hand to apply pressure to the bleeding, but his eyes were on the bed. Watching as his mother gasped out her final breaths.

“Your end is coming too” she whispered with the last of her strength, loud enough for those in the room to hear as she seized the front of Rome’s tunic to pull him closer, coughing a splatter of blood into his face, donning the dark skin crimson. “That grandson you love so much will be your end, just as my son was my own…” She coughed once more, her hand dropping feebly as she released the Roman Nation, one more gasp, and then, nothing but stillness.

“No…” Rome’s voice was quiet at first, and as Greece studied the man, he saw the look of distressed panic cross his face, repeating the denial, getting steadily louder and louder as he turned his gaze to Greece himself, drawing his sword furiously.

With no weapon to hand, Greece backed away, dodging to the left, still clutching his hand as the sword struck the part of the wall that had been level with his head mere moments before.

“You killed her!”

“Only to stop you from doing it!” Greece yelled back defiantly. Even when he was shouting, Greece’s voice was never anything that would be considered particularly loud, but the force behind it was clearly cut.

Rome gritted his teeth and hesitated for a moment before lunging again. His movements were rash and clumsy though, so Greece easily side-stepped his next two attacks, while the soldiers themselves scattered back to the door, surveying the scene warily.

“You heard her anyway! You’ll be dead the same as her, perhaps even soon. Italy will take your place, and you’ll be nothing more but a bad memory!”

Rome launched at him once more, but this attack was even easier to dodge than the last ones.

“But I’ll live on, I’ll live on while you crumble away to nothing!” Greece continued to taunt him. “Why else do you think you aged faster than me? It wasn’t because you were anything impressive, quite the opposite, it meant you were simply meant to spend less time here!”

With the next failed attack, Rome stumbled to his knees, sword clattering against the hard marble floor.

“I’ll kill you” The man snarled, fury still pouring off him, although his shoulders were now trembling, eyes damp, face almost red enough to match that of the blood that was still smeared across his face.

“No, you won’t.” As Rome’s own distress grew, Greece felt his own temperament beginning to calm. He surveyed the other Nation coolly, “and you have to ask yourself this. When you’re gone, who will keep your grandson safe? He’s weak, and you know he is. He has a good heart, but he’s a coward, you know it’s true.” Truthfully Greece felt sorry for the younger Nation. He was all the things Greece had called him and more, without a protector like Rome, he’d be taken advantage of, or eliminated by another stronger Nation.

Rome didn’t reply, after all, he couldn’t deny it.

Turning swiftly on his heel, Greece made his way to the door, pausing as he waited for the soldiers to part. They did so with only minor hesitation, the weakness of their own Nation on display in the room before them.

Greece remained strong, he remained defiant as he walked through the halls of the Palace, sending a clear reminder to anyone who passed him that this was his home, and that they were simply residing in it.

He remained focused and driven.

At least until he finally closed the doors behind him, entering his own rooms. The mask faded, and the tears began to fall.

She was gone. After everything he’d done to try and protect her, his mother was dead. His own hands were deeply coated in both her blood and his own, and the pain in his hand was burning far more intensely now that he was alone.

That’s right, he was now alone, and he felt it acutely.

A warm part of his mind, a part he’d simply taken for granted as a part of himself was gone, and in its space, there was nothing.

He was like Turkey, and Italy’s new friend France, no longer a part of a pair, but simply the lone Nation of a country overrun by a hostile force. His mother had hopes that he would bring about a new age for their country, but how was he supposed to do that alone? How was he supposed to take control when someone else already had their hand on the throne?

It wasn’t time. He still wasn’t ready for this.

Greece wanted to run back to his mother’s room, to see her again, to be certain. Perhaps she wasn’t actually dead, he hadn’t been able to check after all, there was still hope. Even Greece could sense how pathetic his desperation was, and what little sense he had left held him back.

He hadn’t told a lie though. He believed what his mother had said about Rome’s days being just as limited as her own, and Greece wholly hoped that he was there to see it when someone finally plunged the cold steel into the man’s black heart.

A new age. The sandglass had almost run its course.

The number of strong Nations was increasing.

Greece had even heard rumours spreading of another Nation that lay to the west beyond Rome, and not a young Nation by the sound of things either. He’d heard the name ‘Spain’ banded about.

France, the Nation Italy had befriended was still young, but the stories of him suggested that this Nation was not to be taken lightly. His confidence and natural commanding nature were well known, and he was one of the few who had escaped Rome’s blade. Even if Italy had been the one to secure France’s life, that still meant something, it meant that Rome’s influence was dwindling.

Someone would have to rise to take his place, and Greece could predict only bloodshed as the war for that title began.

They were about to enter a new age, but it would be an age of war and blood.


	22. Half the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this chapter is so late, I meant to write while I was on holiday, but the whole thing ended up being really stressful and I didn't have the chance. There are also some updated Ages here, for anyone who needs a reference, I will post these every five chapters or so from here on.
> 
> Prussia - 7  
> Romano - 7  
> Italy - 10  
> France - 12  
> Spain - 14  
> Greece - 14  
> Turkey - 18

**0**

It had been centuries since Spain had last truly felt the touch of humanity. Since he’d lost the twins… he’d spent centuries looking for Lovino, but his ability to simply sense the presence of Nations in his land, particularly one so small hadn’t been strong enough at the time, and before he knew it, it seemed likely the last of the tiny twins within his grasp was gone, who knew how far he’d been taken.

He’d learned his lesson from all of this, something he wished he’d learned a lot sooner before all this grief. Humans were human, and he was not human. The only ones swept along with him on this seemingly eternal ride were enemies by default, other Nations that wanted to take his land, or were a threat to his pitiful and lonely existence.

He’d spent the last century around the northern part of Ilergetae, carefully watching the border that marked the edge of his territory. There had been a few small Nations that had threatened him there before, no one remarkable, and he’d dealt with them swiftly. However, recently he’d been hearing of another Nation, one much more powerful than the others who had slowly been spreading his influence southward. Well, if that Nation tried to get anywhere close to the border, Spain was ready.

Being a lone had given him a lot of focus, and he was much more powerful than he had been when Rome had still been keeping a firm hold over him.

His age hadn’t changed much over the time, perhaps by a year or two, but he felt considerably stronger than he looked.

But, he had been camped out by the border for the past two years and nothing had happened yet. He still needed to keep an eye on movements from the sea, in case Rome was ready to try his luck again, perhaps he should return there for now.

“Who are you?” A rustle, followed by a rather sudden voice from the bushes, caused Spain to jump, flustering for a moment before pointing his sword directly at the source of the noise.

A young boy emerged, his golden blonde hair bouncing a little on his shoulders with each step, blue eyes bright as they flicked towards the sword in Spain’s hands. His fingers twitching towards the one in his own belt, before he simply relaxed and smiled, lowering his arm.

“W-Who are you?” Spain echoed the question back, he didn’t lower his own sword, if anything the other boy’s confidence made him grasp the hilt tighter.

“My name is France” the blonde boy grinned, “Nation to the north of here, which means you…” he looked the Mediterranean child up and down, “Must be Spain.”

France… so this boy was a Nation, and worst of all, he was strong enough to be able to detect that Spain was one as well. His fear and hostility must have shown, because the other boy quickly raised his hands.

“Whoa there, I’m not here to fight you or anything. I just wanted to meet, do you know how boring it is in the north? You either have Germania trying to usurp you, or Rome is telling you what to do. There’s no one my age up there, so I heard that you looked kind of young too…” He gave Spain another glance, “Although… you seem kind of old given your look.”

“Why, how old are you?”

France shrugged, “I don’t know… fifty… maybe?”

Fifty!?

The fact he already looked like a twelve-year-old and had so much power already was certainly a threatening notion, Spain raised his sword again.

“Hey! I thought we were past that!” The blonde jumped back, sticking out his lip in a stubborn pout. “I said, I’m not here to fight, I don’t mean you any harm. I just wanted someone to talk to.”

The darker boy hesitated, he knew he shouldn’t trust the northern Nation, but he suddenly felt the clawing desire at the back of his mind to actually engage with someone again. To be just a little less alone, even if it only was for a moment.

“Fine…” Very slowly, Spain withdrew his sword, keeping a close eye on France’s movements, “But any funny business and I’ll kill you.”

“You’re welcome to try,” from any other Nation that would have been a threat, even if it was said with a sense of humour, but to France the statement did honestly seem to be more for the sake of a good laugh than anything else. He seemed so naively carefree, that was a tell-tale sign of a young Nation.

“So, you came south to find someone you could talk with?” Spain was still trying to work that bit out in his head, was anyone really that reckless?

“Well it was either that or travel east, I heard Germania has a grandson, so I was going to try and find him if I couldn’t find you.”

Spain had clearly been out of the loop for some time, this was the first he was hearing of Germania’s grandson.

Wait. That reminded him, there was one important question he had to ask before he could go any further with this.

“When you were first born, did you have any visions of a field and a tree?”

There was one absolute way to tell how significant a Nation was, and that was the dream of the tree. From what Spain had heard and experienced, it seemed apparent to him that only a very select few Nations were chosen to visit that place.

“Oh, the weird crazy dream world, yeah I’ve been there” France shrugged, “Well I still go there sometimes, although it’s just me now since Feliciano stopped going there… well, I mean I think I hear Germania’s grandson cutting up grass, but…”

Spain lunged towards the other Nation, fixing his hands around the slimmer boy’s shoulders with a desperation he didn’t even know he’d had. “Feliciano? You know him?”

For just a few moments, France honestly appeared wary, his hand had flicked back towards the hilt of his sword.

“Yeah, he’s the one that found me, back when I was a baby, basically raised me till he had to go back to Rome.”

A dizzy sense of lightness came over the southern Nation, as he relaxed his grip, a tiny hysterical laugh leaving his lips. Just to hear that name again, to know he was alive and flourishing, that gave Spain more happiness than he’d ever imagined it would.

“Are you… are you crying?” France had taken his hand away from the sword again, this time so he could pat Spain awkwardly on the back. “Did I say something?”

Shaking his head and rubbing the tears from his eyes, the tanned Nation smiled warmly. “No, I’m just happy to hear that name again. I was there when he and his brother were… well, you said I’m old…”

It was France’s time to look surprised now. “Feliciano has a brother? He never mentioned anyone other than his grandfather?”

Apparently, Spain wasn’t the only one who had missed out on a great deal, although France’s youth could be blamed for his ignorance. He found himself wanting to tell the story, he needed someone other than him to remember what had happened all those centuries ago.

So, he began at the beginning with Marina, recalling every detail about Rome and his mentor, Marina’s daughter, and then finally the birth of the twins, Feliciano and Lovino who had been in this world only a short time before they’d been taken away from him.

“You didn’t fight to stay with Lovino?” That was the question France chose to ask at the end of this long emotional story, and it threw Spain a little.

“No… I mean, he was his father and what could I have said?”

France shrugged, “I mean I understand not wanting to take on Rome, I mean what idiot would, but a human?”

His stomach twisted uncomfortably. There were days where he’d wondered after that question himself. He could have taken Lovino from his father with absolute ease, he could have had Lovino with him now, what had stopped him?

The other Nation didn’t press the issue however and shrugged.

“Well in any case, you’ll probably be happy to know that the last I saw of Feliciano, he looked to be about ten-years-old, he’s a pretty descent cook and loves fine arts. A little jumpy sometimes, but what can you expect from someone who’s spent their entire life being sheltered by the most powerful Nation in the world?”

But what of Lovino?

“You don’t know anything of his brother?”

France shook his head, “Sorry, never even heard of him, and it seems like Feliciano doesn’t know anything about him either. Are you sure he was a Nation and not human?”

Spain shook his head firmly, “I know they were both Nations…”

“Then what if Lovino was killed?”

Cold fear gripped at the Spanish Nation, that was a nightmare that had plagued him for centuries. Feliciano had been under the care and protection of Rome, but what had Lovino had? A sub-par emotionally devastated mortal father. What if the reason Spain couldn’t sense him had nothing to do with him moving out of the country, what if he’d simply been removed from this world, like the many Nations Spain himself had dispatched of.

“Or he’s fine,” France backtracked quickly with a nervous laugh, “I mean if he’s Feliciano’s brother he’s got to be fine right? All those Nations that visit the tree and the field, that’s why you asked me about it right?”

So, France had caught onto that.

“You said you and Feliciano were there together for a while… I think I was there with them for a short time as well, but I never could find them… Do you think Lovino was still there?”

“Well I knew me, and Feliciano weren’t the only ones there, and the other presence disappeared around the same time he did, so…”

Yes, that must be it, Spain chose to grip to that hope however shaky it sounded. He had to believe that one day he’d see the twins again, it was what he’d said to himself when they’d parted all those many, many years ago.

The blonde Nation however, seemed fairly bored with all this talk of tragedy and separation, and jumped back energetically.

“So” he declared, “We’re friends, now right? I’ll help you out, you help me out that sort of thing?”

“What?” Baffled, Spain didn’t have much of a chance to process before France had forcefully grabbed his hand and spun him around.

“Yeah it’ll be great” the slightly younger looking Nation enthused, “I can shine you up a bit, share some of my painting and culture, and you can send me some of those wonderful fruits and things I can’t get right in my country. Sound fair?”

Shine him up? Spain glanced down at his dusty clothes and ran a hand through his slightly ruffled dark brown hair. What was wrong with the way he looked?

“Excellent!” France released him again, “This also means we can see more of each other! Feliciano said making trade agreements with other Nations was the best way to make friends.”

Wait, this had been Feliciano’s advice?

He needed to take a moment to consider this. On one hand, this Nation seemed rather naïve, but also dangerous, on the other wasn’t it good to make friends out of those who might be a threat? France also knew Feliciano, perhaps if he played his cards right that meant he might be able to meet the younger Nation again. He didn’t appreciate how patronizing France was being about his culture, but there was no harm in accepting a bit of it in exchange for the plants that simply grew naturally.

“Well… You’d probably have to speak with the Praetors…” Spain rolled his eyes a little, “Rome’s been fairly active in my lands to, they’re the officials he set up. I’ve been avoiding them, I’m pretty sure Rome wants me dead so seemed smart to keep away from anything Roman.”

France tilted his head, “But you’re the Nation of this country…”

“I know, and the fact I’m still alive and strong proves that, but Rome would like nothing better than to absorb my land completely like he’s done with so many others. I mean personally I’m amazed that you’re even alive.”

The northern Nation laughed, “I know right, lucky me I guess.”

Well that was one way to look at it.

France cleared his throat, trying to keep his expression serious, “But I mean, you’re stronger now right, surely if your people wanted to oust him enough…”

“But do they?” Spain shrugged, “Roman rule is a pain, but they’ve built many structures that have improved our lives as well, aqueducts, drainage, united our cities with roads…”

This did not seem particularly impressive to the other Nation. “So, what, you have those things now, why do you have to keep him around? You just need to get stronger, then tell him to leave and…”

“And what? What do you think I’ve been doing these past two centuries?” He sighed, reminding himself that France didn’t know any better. “Look, no one is as strong as Rome, apart from maybe Germania… that’s just the truth of the matter, the best we can hope for is a situation like yours where Rome just humours your existence.”

“Humours?” France clicked his teeth irritably, “That old man is getting older by the day, believe me I’ve seen it. Sure, he may have once been the big shot around here, him and Germania, but that’s changing.” The devious blue eyes glinted, “And when their old bones finally give in everything will change.”

This all seemed too good to be true, and Spain was not ready to be seduced by false promises. France must have caught his disbelieving glance, because he quickly shook his head, picking up a stick and drawing out a very rough map of Europe in the dirt. He then struck a line through several places towards the east.

“Many of the big Nations are falling” he explained, “The old Greece fell only a few decades back, and then you have Persia, or whatever it is, moving in from here, Rome is terrified of him. Then there’s Nations turning up all over the place,” he marked Spain’s location, the land to the north – which Spain guessed was France’s, a third one to the east, one across the land he called Greece, and finally another mark over Rome.

It certainly did look like Rome and Germania’s influence was shrinking if France was right.

“Trust me and just be patient.” The other Nation winked, “And if you really want to, you can call me Francis.”

Francis… That must be his human name. Optically naïve Francis… well, he seemed well meaning at least.

“Antonio… although I haven’t gone by that in a while.”

“Nice to meet you Antonio” the blonde smirked, “I’m sure I will be seeing you again soon.”


	23. A Long Time Coming

**212 AD – The Romans invade Spain**

For the past few hundred years, Spain had kept himself at relative peace. The Romans continued to prod, and occasionally they would take a little land, but their influence rarely held any significance. While it felt a little patronizing to say, Spain was proud of his people and their defiance. He had not declared himself publicly to them, his existence was mere rumour to many of them, but despite that they held tightly onto their independence from a Roman invasion.

Although he had drifted slightly from place-to-place over the last couple of centuries, the Spanish Nation had kept close to the northern border. It gave him the opportunity to see Francis more often, and Spain found that now he had found it again, he missed company.

The younger Nation also helped him to keep tabs on Feliciano and keep a closer ear to the ground on any mention of Lovino. News on Lovino never seemed to come, although Francis had informed him that Feliciano had been searching for his brother for quite some time now. Not that Feliciano was aware it was his brother he was chasing after, he had made Francis promise to keep him a secret from Feliciano, at least for now. That also meant keeping any intimate secrets he may have shared with Francis, such as his knowledge of Lovino and Feliciano’s connection, away from the Italian Nation’s ears.

But it wasn’t just Francis’ connection with Feliciano that kept Spain around. The honest truth was he liked the younger Nation, he felt a sense of comradery to him, a fun sort of mischief that always held the promise of fun in the air.

Shoulder twitching slightly, Spain looked up. Francis had just crossed the border, he’d felt it, and thankfully it was not too far from here. He hadn’t been expecting to see his friend for another month or so, but perhaps he’d brought important or urgent news of the twins.

Catching a ride with a rather irritable looking wagon driver heading northward, Spain forced himself to be patient. It would only take a little over an hour to reach the border from here, hopefully Francis would be content to wait at their usual meeting place.

Jumping off the back of the wagon, Spain travelled the rest of the way on foot. It was a relief to see Francis perched on the usual rock, and he lifted a hand to wave to the blonde. However, the moment Francis noticed him, he leaped down from the rock and sped towards him.

Something wasn’t right.

Spain could see that his friend was panicked, frantic even, before they reached one another.

“What’s wrong?”

Francis’ hands tightened around his shoulders, ghostly blue eyes as wide as the moon. “He’s coming! I came as fast as I could. It’s not just the Roman armies, he’s coming himself. There’s only one reason he’d do that…”

Spain did not have to clarify who it was Francis was talking about, the cold and fearful swell in his heart knew that name all too well. “He’s coming to kill me.”

That would of course be the next step in the Roman invasion. The people would not bow, and while they had a Nation, these lands could never truly belong to anyone else. If he was honest, Spain was surprised it had taken Rome this long to get around to it.

If he’d been more naïve, Spain might have considered the idea that Rome had paused in memory of their friendship, and the many years they’d shared together. But, when it came to Rome, Spain liked to think his mind was sharp and focused. He knew Rome, better than many other Nations did, and the Rome he knew, would not hesitate over the likes of him.

“Why are you still standing around here, you have to go! Hide!” The hands around his shoulders trembled slightly, tugging more insistently. “I don’t know how much warning I’ve been able to give you, he and his men were staying in the same town I was, I probably only got here a couple of hours ahead of them and…”

Francis had seen the small tick, the tell-tale sign, Spain had yet to get rid of when he registered another Nation entering his lands.

“He’s already here,” the already pale Nation turned an unhealthy pure white. “I’ll do what I can to delay him and…”

Spain shook his head firmly. “No. Go back to your own country, do not get in Rome’s way, and trust me, I can take care of myself.” He doubted that Francis would believe him, he hardly believed those words himself. But, Antonio was no longer weak, and he certainly wasn’t going to put his only friend in harm’s way.

“Go now, or I’m not going to move!” The sudden sharpness of Spain’s voice caused Francis to step back uncertainly, still hesitating, before Spain gave him another final gesture. The blonde Nation ran, sprinting back in the direction he’d presumably come from, leaving Spain to think.

Rome had not entered the country too far from here, he would be close, and, knowing Rome he probably had some sort of ability to track another Nation, particularly one he was familiar with. While this was not a gift Spain himself had developed yet, it certainly seemed like the next logical step after simply being able to detect unidentified Nations within your own border.

He had two choices. Stand, fight, and die like a hero; or run, hide, and maybe survive, like a coward.

Neither seemed particularly appealing, but he had to make a decision, and he had to make it fast.

Feet hitting the ground, Spain began to run. There was a forest not far from here, plenty of places to hide, and it would be difficult for the Romans to march their troupes through it. He had been hiding for this long, why not do so a little longer.

While it was true he was stronger, Spain still knew that his strength was simply no match for Rome’s. Not yet. But one day, one day he would bring that merciless tyrant to his knees, he would pull him to the ground and see him beg for his life. Spain would raise his sword, and he would bring it down hard and fast, delivering that sweet release that would finally remove the source of the sickness that was plaguing Europe. That day could not come soon enough. But, to ensure he truly could be there when that day came, he would have to live on.

The hairs on the back of Spain’s neck flared. Rome was close, in fact if Spain had to describe it out loud, he would have said that the other Nation was tracking him, moving at a speed that suggested he’d broken free of the rest of his pack.

Stumbling over the dry roots, Antonio continued, even though the pain in his ankles protested. He’d potentially broken something, but it didn’t matter, it would heal as he ran, he couldn’t afford to slow down now.

Something heavy struck him from the side, causing Spain to instinctively roll away, the moment he hit the ground. His chest bruised and winded by the sheer force that hit him, as soon as the two collapsed to the floor.

“You fucking brat!” A strong grip seized his repairing ankle, causing Spain to scream out in pain, using his other leg in an attempt to kick his attacker away. And, for a moment the grip on his ankle released, but Spain could not pull away fast enough as the hand struck out again, this time seizing the lower half of his leg.

“Get off me!” Spain snarled, although he knew it was a pointless statement to make.

Turning, the younger Nation did his best to pull free, as he looked up at the terrifying image before him. This was not the same Rome he’d known all those years ago. The man pinning him to the ground looked far older, his face sharp and unkept, brown eyes wide and bloodshot as they bore down on Spain’s own.

“What… What happened to you?” Fear gripped at his heart, clawing fearfully around the rapidly beating organ. But it was not out of fear for his own life, but for that of Feliciano, the innocent Nation that lived with this monster. If he’d done anything to harm Feliciano, then… With a sudden growl, and burst of chaotic energy, Spain pushed back against the older man, striking out with his newly repaired ankle, to strike Rome heavily in the shins, simultaneously biting down hard on one of the hands that had been holding him down.

It had the desired effect. Rome recoiled, giving Spain the space, he needed to get away.

He couldn’t stay here. His own country wasn’t safe, Rome would keep chasing him, he wouldn’t stop.

There had to be a way of distracting the older Nation, just long enough for Spain to make his escape.

“Feliciano!?” He demanded, dodging as Rome made another manic grab for him, using the stronger man’s blind rage to his own advantage. “Tell me you haven’t hurt him!?”

Before he went, he needed to know this. Because if Rome stood there and told him that he’d laid one finger on the smaller Nation’s head, then Spain would do his utmost best to kill him right there and then.

“Feliciano?” For a moment Rome’s expression flickered, it softened, aging him another good decade or so. “I wouldn’t…” He bit his lip, teeth clamping down so hard that Spain saw the blossoming jewels of blood surface from the skin like perfect red jewels. The madness was back, “You keep away from him!”

The clang of metal against metal sounded out like a bell, as Rome drew his sword, swinging it erratically in Spain’s direction.

“Well if this is your best attempt to kill me, I’d say I’m having a rather good day,” Spain couldn’t help but turn up his lip at Rome’s rather pathetic attempts. The older Nation had lost the plot completely, his grip on his mind was slipping, and Spain could only hope that resembled a slipping grasp over the countries he’d held to ransom all these years.

For now, he had to believe that Feliciano was fine, Francis certainly hadn’t said anything to alarm him on that front, but it would only be so long before the version of Rome standing before him, finally turned on his grandson.

“You…” He watched as Rome flexed his shoulders, cold gaze pinning him against the wall of thin air that seemed to have materialised behind him. “You don’t understand… You never did… What it means to be a Nation, what it means to fight for your survival, to fight to protect the ones you love. When it comes down to it you run… you put us all to shame.”

He… runs…

It… It was true. Spain swallowed heavily, his mind alive with the burning scenes of his past. He ran away from his duties protecting Feliciano, he allowed himself to be chased away from Lovino, he ran from Rome and he ran from his own people. Perhaps he had in someway run away from Marina as well, away from the duties she had burdened him with.

Blood curdling pain shot through his shoulder, pain so intense that Spain could not even find the voice to express it.

In his moment of hesitation, Rome had plunged his sword downwards, through the Spanish Nation’s shoulder, so that it cut through the muscle and tissue all the way down to his shoulder-blade.

Blinding dizziness overtook him, blackness seeping into the corners of his vision.

No… No, it wasn’t supposed to end like this!

The sword withdrew, ripping up more flesh as it travelled with a sickening sense of satisfaction.

Spain saw the sword, stained a dark moonlight scarlet. His blood.

No!

Summoning everything he had, Spain lunged, seizing the hilt of the sword and driving it downwards towards Rome’s torso. This plan should not have worked, in no way did Spain have the strength or ability to pull it off. However, his sudden movement took Rome by surprise, enough to make his arm relax as the smaller Nation applied all his weight to the movement, sending the blade plummeting into the older Nation’s chest.

It wouldn’t kill him. No, it would take more than that to bring down Rome, but it gave him what he needed. Time.

Aware of the blood seeping through his clothes, and the bone-crunching agony from his back, Spain ran, he ran faster than he could have believed possible, absolutely certain that Rome would soon be in pursuit. But, as he ran he sensed no sign that Rome had taken up the chase again, perhaps he already had him written off as dead with an injury like this.

Gasping for breath, nearly half his vision now consumed by the black cloud enfolding him, Spain made one final push, clearing the border just before he collapsed, sprawled across the foreign soil.

He had to trust in his friend now.

While Spain hated the idea of placing his life in the hands of such uncertain fate, he truly could afford to do nothing else at the moment. The last of the light was fading, as darkness finally embraced his mind, sinking him deep into the relapses of unconsciousness.

When he finally awoke again, it was to find himself spread out on his front against the warm soft sheets of an unknown bed. The pressure of his ribs against the mattress was uncomfortable, and Spain made to shift his position, only for a jolt of pain to spiral up his left shoulder.

“Hey! Hey!”

A cool hand pressed gently against his good shoulder, preventing him from moving. “Things are looking better, but I wouldn’t try to move just yet.”

Francis? That was Francis’ voice, but what… And then it all came rushing back to him, Rome, that manic look in his eyes, his… his sword. Spain had managed to somehow gain the upper-hand, and then bolted for the northern border he shared with Francis. Thank God the French Nation had found him in time.

“How long have I been like this?”

“About a week” Francis expressed with a sigh, “You had me really scared though, at first, I thought you were actually going to…” Spain heard the other boy swallow, “Well, you seem to be healing up now, your shoulder still looks disgusting though.”

Spain couldn’t help but laugh, sensing Francis’ frustration. “I told you I’d be fine, didn’t I?”

A firm thump struck out against the side of his head. It wasn’t enough to actually hurt, but Spain caught the message.

“Right, right. Thank you… for your help.”

Francis sniffed, and Spain suspected there was a chance he was crying. The younger Nation had proven himself to be a rather emotional boy since the first time they’d met. He wanted to comfort him, but wasn’t sure how to, while he was stuck in this position.

“Just promise you won’t get hurt like this again!”

That was something Spain couldn’t swear to. “I… I can’t. But, I can promise you that it is not my intention for Rome to ever hurt me like this again. Is that good enough?”

It probably wasn’t, but Francis seemed to accept that this was the most he was going to get.


	24. Stories from the East

**250 AD – Japan emerging as a highly sophisticated country with military rulers**

“And I told you, it’s mine!” Mei snapped, seizing the ball from Yong-Soo’s grip, sticking out her lower lip, before charging to the other side of the room with it. Usually this was a point where China would scold them, or role his eyes and try to calm the situation down.

But, at this moment he was out of the room, engaged in a busy meeting that the children of the house had been told not to disturb.

Lei, Mei’s twin brother was distracting himself with other, calmer activities, so Kiku chose to focus on him instead. Whatever Mei and Yong-Soo were arguing about, he was sure they’d sort it out eventually.

“Who do you think China is meeting with?” Lei questioned, not looking up from the art piece he was studying.

Kiku shrugged, it probably didn’t matter anyway. The meeting would be over eventually, and then China would stroll back looking tired, and probably fall asleep while working on his notes, that’s usually how these things went.

A sudden crash from down the hall, alerted the attention of the four child Nations, followed by loud angry voices they couldn’t quite interoperate, in fact the language seemed completely foreign, although Kiku managed to catch a few words that seemed familiar to him. Something along the lines of: “I know you have it!”

China had something that belonged to these men?

Mei and Yong-Soo dropped their argument immediately, the ball forgotten as they came over to huddle beside Kiku and Lei, eyes wide and nervous. As the oldest of the group, Kiku knew it was his duty to reassure them.

He had been the first to arrive in China’s house, at the time a very small child, barely capable of taking care of himself. But, under China’s care he’d grown over the centuries to resemble, what China told him was a nine-year-old boy.

“China will sort it out” he told them, and he was fairly confident in this outcome, after all, however scary looking the opponent, China hadn’t lost an argument in his own home yet.

“Are they going to hurt him?” Mei asked, and Kiku felt her smaller frame shivering against him, tugging uncertainly at her long brown hair, tears already beginning to form in her eyes.

“No one can hurt China” Yong-Soo replied firmly, although Kiku noted that he still sounded fairly unsure of himself.

He was right though. No human could hurt a Nation, that was what they’d been taught, and China had taken out any Nations that threatened him or the children under his care, before they could touch them. They were safe under China’s care.

That was when the door burst open, and a group of men entered, many of which were heavily armed.

Letting out a squeak of alarm, the children raced back. It was too late to hide, but perhaps there was an escape route they could take.

“I told you to leave!” China pushed his way through the armed men, standing between them and the children with his arms outstretched, creating a physical barrier between them. “I don’t care what the Emperor says, this is his home!”

One of the unarmed men at the centre of the group spoke. He was dressed in fancy looking clothes and had a rather snobbish way of holding himself that Kiku didn’t like. The man was definitely speaking another language though, but once more Kiku caught enough to get the gist of what was happening.

“They want to take me away?”

All eyes in the room swivelled towards him, causing Kiku’s face to heat up with embarrassment, but he was sure he hadn’t heard wrong. But what did these men want with him?

More angry chattering, but this time Kiku wasn’t paying attention, as China snapped back at them in the same language the strange men were speaking.

Kiku felt Mei and Lei’s fingers tighten around his clothes a little tighter, and Yong-Soo’s grip on him was now approaching something close to a strangle hold.

“We cannot move forward, while it is here!” Those words were spoken by the official looking man again, however, this time it was in a language he understood. “He does not speak out language, he is still a mere child!” The tone was heavily accented, and phrased peculiarly, but at least now Kiku understood everything they were saying.

“Exactly, he’s a child!” China snapped back, “and you think I’d hand him over to a bunch of power-hungry militants like yourselves!?”

Kiku wanted to speak out, to ask China who’s these men were, make him promise that he wouldn’t let them take him away. But the words simply seemed to faulter in his throat.

“It doesn’t matter what you want. Your Emperor has signed an agreement that allows us to that it.”

The Emperor had told them they could take him?

“You’ll have to get around me first!” China snarled, he was unarmed, but Kiku knew that in no way did that make China defenceless. But, however capable and invulnerable Kiku knew his mentor was, it didn’t stop him from gasping in alarm when the armed men drew their swords and pointed them at him.

“Are you trying to start a war?” From behind, he saw China’s shoulders tense angrily.

The central man waved his hand, and in an instant the swords were sheathed again. “Of course we do not. However, we will not be leaving without our Nation.”

Their Nation?

Carefully releasing himself from the grip of his friends, Kiku stepped forward.

“Am I really their Nation?”

Wasn’t it the duty of a Nation to be with their country? While Kiku didn’t want to leave, did he really have a choice if these were the people he was supposed to serve?

China’s head turned sharply towards him, the concern and fear very apparent in his eyes.

“Kiku listen… these people…”

“Yes, you are” the pompous man stepped in, “You are the Nation of Japan and you are coming back with us.” He stepped forward, but China very quickly shifted his position so that Kiku was once more cut-off from his line of sight.

Taking another step forward, Kiku took China’s leg carefully, in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

He didn’t want China getting into trouble with the Emperor over this, and if the Emperor truly had given his permission, then they couldn’t overrule him, that was the law.

“It will be okay” he promised the older Nation, he tried to offer a smile, but his expression was frozen in place.

Faintly he heard Mei begging him not to do it, but his decision had been made.

It wasn’t like this was the last time he was going to see any of them. Nations were immortal, so even if it took a century, perhaps even two, this would not be a final goodbye.

“Is this… is this really what you want?” China bent down, taking Kiku by both shoulders, “Because if it isn’t I will fight the Emperor on this.”

It wasn’t what he wanted, but… Kiku cast a look around the place he’d called his home for so many years, perhaps it was time he moved on. China had given him so much, but he had to prove he was ready to stand on his own two feet now.

He nodded solemnly.

As the tears formed in China’s eyes, Kiku bit his lip to prevent himself from changing his mind. But he couldn’t stop his chest from heaving painfully as China pulled him into a firm embrace, allowing Kiku to take in that scent of spice and parchment one final time, before the older Nation finally released him.

The foreign men were speaking in their own language now, as one of the armed men moved forward and gripped Kiku by the shoulder, leading him away.

He heard the sound of running footsteps behind him, heard the protests of Mei and Yong-Soo, but he couldn’t look back. If he was to live the rest of his life without regret, then he would have to continue looking forward.

The men all seemed very pleased as they escorted him from China’s house, and the pompous one was speaking in a very proud way, tongue twisting around the new and strange words, only occasionally forming sounds that Kiku recognised.

“Where are we going?”

That was his first mistake. One of the soldiers struck him very heavily around the back of the head. If he were human, Kiku expected that would have been a rather serious head injury, but as a Nation it simply just hurt.

“You speak only Japanese now!” The pompous man snapped, “Or you do not speak at all!”

He was handled roughly as they travelled down to the city below China’s home, carted around before the people like he was some great prize that had been won, all while being pushed and shoved towards the docks.

The man who seemed to be in charge was talking to him again, although this time it was only in this new ‘Japanese’ language. Kiku caught something along the lines of ‘Temple’ and ‘Lessons’, as well as a few derogatory remarks about his appearance and manners.

That wasn’t particularly fair, Kiku had always considered himself to be someone with excellent manners, but for risk of being hit again, he couldn’t reply. Even if he did speak the language fluently, he doubted this man would be happy about a child answering him back.

Was this really the right thing to do? Perhaps China had been right, these weren’t good people and he shouldn’t be going with them.

As if that singular thought had been holding back a floodgate, panic suddenly raced through Kiku’s body. His heals locked into place, and he began resisting the pull of the soldier guiding him.

“No!” He yelled, looking around desperately at the crowds of people around them. Someone had to help him. “I don’t want to go!”

A signal from the man in charge, and the guard simply lifted Kiku off the ground, carrying him firmly over his shoulder. “No!” Kiku shouted out again, struggling as hard as he could against the impenetrable grip. “I want to go home! Let me go!”

No one in the crowd moved, although all eyes were on him. Some quickly moved away, pretending they hadn’t seen anything, while others hesitated fearfully. Why weren’t they doing anything? Why weren’t they helping him?

“Please!” He begged once more, hoping that someone in the crowd would at least try to halt the men who were taking him away, buy him a little more time to get away.

The pompous man gave an instruction, and suddenly Kiku felt a very hard force strike him across the head again, plunging the world instantly into darkness before he had a chance to fight against it.

However, as one world darkened, another shone brightly to life. A world Kiku was Familiar with as he fell down against the grass, gasping for breath. His head didn’t hurt anymore, but his heart was still racing. He had to find help? Someone had to be here who could help him.

“Hello!” He called out. He’d played with Mei, Lei and Yong-Soo here sometimes, perhaps they would be here, maybe he could get a message to China. But there was no reply, he was lost… these people would take him away, and they’d never let him leave again.

“Es-tu vexé?”

Kiku bolted, spinning on his heel. The sound of another language alarmed him much more than it would have done before today.

But, the boy standing before him looked nothing like the men who were carrying him away, in fact he looked nothing like anyone he’d ever seen before.

His golden hair bounced down to his shoulders, and the eyes that were surveying him with concern were shining a bright sky blue. This alien looking appearance, caused Kiku to panic further.

“Who are you!?” He demanded, stepping away.

The other boy looked confused, head tilted slightly. He was frowning, he didn’t understand Kiku any better than Kiku understood him.

However, the other boy did seem to understand something, as he pointed to himself with a wide smile, “France.”

Was that… was that a name?

It suddenly occurred to Kiku that this must be another Nation. China had said this was a special place that Nations dreamt of when they were still young. That meant this Nation couldn’t be that much older or younger than him.

About to introduce himself as Kiku, the dark-haired Nation suddenly remembered the new name he’d been given. If this was his first talk with another Nation following his independence, then he was going to do it properly.

Straightening his back, Kiku lowered his head formally. “Japan.” While usually he would have used far more manners in his reply, he was worried that he might be misunderstood if he used more than one word.

“France,” the boy pointed to himself, then to Kiku, “Japan?” He was clarifying to make sure he’d understood.

Kiku nodded.

The question was, how did they proceed from here. They didn’t understand each other, and neither of them had ever seen one another before, although judging by their physical ages they had been in existence for quite some time.

The blonde Nation opened his mouth again, but whatever he was going to say was cut off when a small stone suddenly struck the side of his head.

“Aie!” France yelped, clutching a hand to the side of his head, pulling it back to stare down at the blood pooling in his palm angrily, “Quoi au nom de dieu!?” He bolted towards the blades of long grass the stone had come from, leaving Kiku to stand awkwardly where he was, watching as the grass around him rustled and shifted, echoing what sounded like rather rude curses, before France returned, dragging another golden-haired boy with him irritably.

“Leig dhomh falbh!” The newcomer snarled, spinning and turning as he tried to bite France’s hand. This boy was younger than the two of them, perhaps five or six? And he was perhaps the wildest looking child that Kiku had ever seen. Unlike France whose hair seemed to be cleanly kept, his clothes smooth and intricate, this new Nation’s similarly shaded hair was short and tangled, his clothes primitive and course.

“Who is this?” Kiku asked, forgetting for a moment that neither France or this new Nation would understand.

The gist seemed to be understood though, as France shrugged, doing his best to calm and straighten the younger boy who was still doing his best to bite him.

“Latina?” France asked.

For a moment the younger boy froze, his unnatural bright green eyes staring up at the other boy, before he spat very firmly into France’s eye.

“Petite merde!” France cursed, pulling back one of the hands that had been holding the younger Nation in place, to wipe at his eye. “Mitescere. Im 'non Romae. Gallia. Gallia est nomen meum!”

The boy did struggle once more, but at least stopped trying to bite the other, growling something back that sounded similar to the language France had just spoken. The two of them seemed to understand one another now, was it possible they knew a language they could connect in? That did sound rather useful. Although he supposed the same had been true of him and those who lived in China’s house.

Finally, France seemed to have control of the situation, as he pointed to the younger boy. “England.”

So, there were three of them here now. The younger blonde boy still looked unhappy, but when France released him, he didn’t run away, but simply took a few steps back.

How many Nations were there?

The five of them in China’s house had already seemed like a lot, and while China had already informed him that there were another Nations who lived far away across the sea, he’d never actually imagined he’d meet any of them. These Nations had to be from far away though, nobody he’d ever met had such exotic looking eyes and hair.

Similarly, both France and England seemed rather curious about his appearance to.

The language barrier was quite a complicated thing it would seem.

However, surely this was a step in the right direction. A sign that he was doing the right thing. Above them, the winding branches of the central tree pulsed a beautiful shimmering blue. Surely this was the right thing.


	25. Baptised in Blood

**476 AD – The Fall of Rome**

“Antonio!” Opening his bleary eyes, the Spanish Nation blinked back against the darkness of the room he’d been living in for the past month. It was difficult to get used to living anywhere when he always had to keep on the move. Francis had helped him as much as possible without drawing too much attention to himself from Rome, and Antonio was grateful for that.

He still visited his own country though, just to remind the earth and soil that he was still there, and he had no intention of surrendering this land to the Romans. While it was true he could feel himself weakened from the time away from his home, he continued to hold that firm bond, no matter how much of his energy it took.

It did seem like Rome’s influence on Europe had called everyone else rather sharply to a halt. Antonio didn’t know of a single European Nation outside of Rome and Germania, that had managed to age these pasts few centuries. Everyone seemed to be trapped under their influence or power.

However, they were getting older, there was evidence enough in that, when Francis confessed about a century back that he could no longer visit the dream world anymore. While Antonio did feel sorry for his friend, he knew it hadn’t been a particularly useful point of contact for Feliciano or Lovino, as Feliciano had stopped visiting it quite some time ago, Antonio expected the same would have been true of Lovino, not that Francis had ever reported having seen him there.

“Antonio!” That voice again, a voice Antonio was very familiar with by now.

“What is it Francis?” It was still dark outside, the only reason he could think of that the French Nation would wake him so suddenly was if there was some sort of danger. That thought did cause the darker toned Nation to focus a little more sharply.

In the half light cast by the candle Francis was holding, Antonio could make out his wide-eyed expression. The blue eyes that blinked back at him were caught in a flurry of conflicting emotions. He could see excitement, fear and something that could only be described as ‘justification’.

“It’s happening, I just heard word on the Germanic border. I knew he was losing his grip on things, but he just marched his armies through Germania’s land. Antonio I really think this is it.”

It? For a moment Antonio remained baffled, and then his eyes shot open.

Rome’s influence had been weakening over the past fifty-years or so. He’d lost Britannia in the north, some of Francis’ northern kingdoms, and large chunks of Germania’s land. However, Antonio hadn’t dared to hope this phenomenon might be spreading further south.

Throwing off the covers, Antonio dressed quickly, and stood before Francis ready to go. They were going to go and see it right? After all this time, he had to be there when it happened, even if he couldn’t deliver the final blow himself.

For a moment Francis seemed to hesitate, his expression conflicting uncertainly. But, before Antonio had a chance to question him on it, the blonde Nation grinned, grabbing his hand and leading him out to the front of the Inn he was staying in. Several horses and a few men were waiting out there, presumably Francis’ escort.

“You know how to ride right?”

Ride? Like, ride a horse?

Antonio studied the large and irritable looking animals apprehensively and shook his head.

Unlike Francis, Antonio had never had the benefit of being educated by his people in anything, not since Marina at least, and there hadn’t exactly been that many horses dotted around the small settler village.

Francis collected his answer from the silence, and chuckled, “I’ll have to teach you sometime, once all this is over.” He pulled himself up onto a white mare near the centre of the crowd and held out his hand to help Antonio on behind him. “Just hold onto me okay.”

Antonio did not have to be told twice, once the creature actually started moving, and his stomach flipped uncomfortably when they began to pick up speed. He was going to die, he was going to die on this infernal creature, he was absolutely convinced of it.

However, when they reached their camp for that night, Antonio found that he was still very much alive, much to Francis’ amusement.

“It isn’t funny!” Antonio grumbled, rolling out his sleeping mat for the night, while Francis howled with laughter.

“Honestly I thought you were going to pull us both off after that jump by the river” he sniggered, clutching at his gut, “And did you actually scream when we rounded that sharp corner?”

“You did it all on purpose!”

Perhaps there had been a few places that were necessary, but Antonio was pretty sure that Francis had started taking more complicated routes, like jumping logs instead of moving around them, or taking corners too fast just to frighten him.

But still, Francis’ laughter was rather infectious, so it was difficult to stay angry with him.

Once the blonde had calmed down, and they were settled beneath their blankets for the night, Francis spoke again.

“You know, I was thinking of doing some travelling myself, once my lands are free… I thought I could maybe travel north, take a look at Britannia myself, see if the stories of wild and savage Bretons are as true as the merchants say.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be freezing and wet up there all the time?” Antonio could think of nothing more unappealing than a country like that, no wonder the people were driven half mad.

Francis chuckled at this, “I’ll have to find out for myself. Hey, you know Feliciano told me this story, he was told by the Greek Nation. According to the Greeks, the people of Britannia came about when a king of Greece sent seven of his wicked deviant daughters adrift in a boat. They sailed around Europe and came to the coast of Britannia where they proceeded to mate with the monsters and create the first Bretons.”

Antonio winced with disgust. There was no way that story was true, but it did paint rather a vivid image of the people to the north and how barbaric they must be. He could only imagine what a Nation of such a country would look like.

When he turned to Francis however, the younger Nation’s eyes were sparkling with anticipation.

“Have you… have you already met their Nation?”

Francis grinned to himself, “Sort of, we met a couple of times in the dream world before my time there came to an end. Really grumpy kid threw a stone at me the first time we met and spat in my face… come to think of it there was this other guy there as well… Jap… something, haven’t seen him since though.”

Well it sounded like the Britannic Nation was exactly how Antonio had imagined he’d be, so why on earth did Francis look so happy about it.

“You have to meet him to understand,” Francis answered the questioning look on his friend’s face. “It’s just really amusing, he does all these crazy things, then goes bright red when you laugh at him, sure he kicks and bites a little, but then other times he just clings onto your arm like a little limpet.”

Antonio clicked his tongue, he certainly would never put up with spoiled childish behaviour like that.

“So, you understand him?”

Francis nodded, “Yeah, like most of us around here, he speaks Latin… well, very poor Latin, but enough for us to communicate, he hates speaking it though and often reverts back into this tongue-twister language his native people must speak.”

The Spanish Nation was beginning to get the impression that if he let him, Francis would go on about this weird kid all night, so instead he rolled over, so he was facing away from the other Nation. “I’m going to get some sleep, recover from my horse-riding trauma for tomorrow.” He grimaced slightly at the idea of having to get back on a horse, but it was the only way to get to the frontline fast enough, before they missed the whole thing.

The next day they crossed into Germania’s land. Antonio watched as each man in Francis’ guard attached a white scrap of material to their horses.

“Truce flag” Francis explained, “It means that we aren’t here to do any damage or attack, so hopefully Germania’s soldiers will leave us alone.”

It didn’t however, look like there were any soldiers on their route, they must all be where Rome and Germania were fighting, which would certainly make sense.

As they past through villages and towns, Antonio couldn’t help but feel that these people were just as savage and wild as the Bretons to the north that Francis had been describing.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure whether it was better to be ruled under Germania’s uncivilised but loose rule, or Rome’s suffocating strict but advanced one. Well the true answer was neither, why couldn’t they both just leave everyone else to it.

On the fifth day they caught the first signs of the battle. Bloodied bodies, fallen swords and horses, the metallic stench of blood was rife in the air, causing the boys to gag each time they breathed in too deeply.

Because of this, they rode in slow and quiet silence, Francis’ guards alert for any sign of danger.

“There!” One of the guards had time to shout his alert, before a flurry of leather and hair dropped from a tree on top of him, drawing a blade across his throat, before kicking off the horse with a vicious sound. More Germanic soldiers dropped down after him, surrounding the small travelling party.

“Oh god… umm…” Francis waved his hands uncertainly, “Wini… umm… Stilli?”

They sounded like made up words to Antonio, but he could only assume that Francis was trying to speak to them in their own language. His knowledge of the language seemed limited to single words spoken loudly though, rather than actually being able to hold a conversation.

Seeing this rather sophisticated looking little boy yelling at them in German did seem to give the soldiers pause though. However, once one had cracked a smirk of amusement, they advanced once more, blades held high.

“Lant!” Francis tried again, “Nation!”

But this didn’t seem to dissuade the men.

Instinctively Antonio reached down to his waist, where the knife he carried was concealed, and he was aware that Francis was reaching for his own blade as well. Even if they were not under any threat, the French Nation seemed determined to protect his men.

However, just before Antonio could launch himself off the horse that the nearest soldier, a boy appeared from the bushes, waving his hands at the Germanic soldiers and shouting German at them.

He was young, around the same age as Francis, with hair that was so blonde, Antonio could almost have called it white. But perhaps the most alarming were the burning crimson red eyes that the boy was studying them with.

Now, Antonio was perfectly willing to accept by now that blue was an eye colour, but he was not ready to accept that this was in any way something that could be described as natural. However, he also knew that his own eye colour could be considered, a little odd.

To have such a small boy giving orders to big and fierce men like this. Antonio narrowed his eyes, this had to be a Nation. The hold on his knife tightened, but Francis turned to place a reassuring hand over his.

“It’s fine, trust me.”

And, just as Francis had implied, the soldiers grunted and disappeared back into the forest, presumably in the direction of the battle, leaving the small white-haired boy behind.

“Francis” the boy greeted, his expression breaking into a toothy grin, “Thought I might be seeing you around here, come to watch as my old man takes down yours?”

“He’s not my old man” Francis sighed with annoyance, “Trust me, I’m as keen as anyone to see that guy knocked down a peg or two.”

It seemed like this white-haired boy spoke Latin, which was a small relief to Antonio. However, he took note of the use of the name ‘Francis’. The French Nation was very particular about who called him by his human name, in fact that was limited strictly to friends only, so that meant he and this other Nation had to know each other quite well.

“Anto… Spain,” Francis corrected himself quickly, aware that Antonio was very particular about who he gave his name out to as well, “This is Prussia, you know the kid I told you about before. He helps to keep me informed about what’s happening out there in the rest of Europe.”

“Spain? Well nice to meet you, heard you’re one of the poor suckers that got taken over by Rome, sucks to be you.”

Antonio frowned, narrowing his eyes.

Their mutual friend laughed nervously, jumping down from the horse. “Come on Gil… Prussia, don’t be like that. He’s had a really rough time out of it that last few centuries.”

“Just call me Gilbert,” the other Nation waved his hand, “Prussia is for my subjects,” he let out a sharp and energetic cackle. “You on the horse, you’re a Nation, so you can call me that to. To you lot however,” he pointed at Francis’ men, “It is the Great and Awesome Prussia to you!”

Slipping off the horse after Francis, Antonio approached his friend, still eyeing the other boy uncertainly. “Are you sure he’s safe?”

Francis laughed and nodded, “Oh don’t worry he’s fine, just a little eccentric.”

It seemed like Francis gravitated towards these ‘eccentric’ and ‘wild’ Nations far more than Antonio would have previously assumed.

“I assume you guys want a good view of the battle. You’re not the first to get here, Rome brought a whole party with him, plus I’m pretty sure that Ottoman Empire bastard is around here somewhere, keep an eye out for him, he’s a fucking weirdo.” Gilbert let out another cackle as he turned towards the trees, motioning for the group to follow him.

“My kid brother is around here somewhere as well, he won’t be able to do much more than stab your ankles though.” He pointed to Antonio, “You look more like Rome, so he’s likely to see you as an enemy, Francis should probably be able to get away with it though.”

Even though Antonio knew this wasn’t an insult, and was just helpful advice, he couldn’t help but feel offended by it all the same.

“Wait…” His mind reeling back a little, Antonio caught up with Gilbert, “You said you had a younger brother?”

That was rare, blood related Nations were so uncommon in fact, that Antonio had been under the impression that only a few existed, and, with the exception of Lovino and Feliciano, they were parent and descendent sets.

“Yeah, the bloodline gets kind of complicated. Basically, Fater had me ages ago with some random girl he liked, and then like four centuries ago he got this other girl pregnant, and hey along came my little brother. He’s got a human name… I think, but his actual name is stupid, so don’t ask him for it.”

Honestly, Antonio had no idea how it worked when Nations slept with humans, he’d never really had the inclination to do so himself. He’d sort of assumed that typically they just didn’t have children, but maybe they did and most of them were only human? Really, he didn’t understand how any of their origins worked. There were Nations like Feliciano, Lovino, and apparently Gilbert and his brother, who were born, and then there were Nations like himself and Francis, who simply seemed to come into existence by themselves.

“Here we are.”

Gilbert had led them up onto a small hill face, looking down on the battle below amongst the speckled clearings of the forest.

“Stay low” he instructed, “and whatever you do, do not come out from here. Even me and my brother are keeping out of the way of our dad right now. I reckon he and Rome will kill anyone that comes within a sword’s reach of them.”

Sensible advice, so Antonio decided to take it, lying flat on his stomach, so he could peer over the hill, while at the same time, keeping a close eye on the battle below.

“Well you idiots are welcome to stay and watch, but I’m getting back to it” Gilbert smirked, seizing Francis in an affectionate headlock, thoroughly messing up his hair, before darting off again.

At the very least, this gesture seemed to annoy the French Nation, who spent a good half hour fixing his hair after Gilbert was gone.

It did not take long to spot Germania and Rome though, it was hard to miss them, they seemed to tower above the other soldiers on the field and were locked in a battle of such intensity that the fury and anger seemed to be visibly radiating off them into the drizzly sky.

Antonio let out a small sneeze. He really hated this sort of weather, and the blanket Francis had draped over them, while initially helpful, now seemed to be making things worse.

But it wasn’t over yet, he couldn’t go back.

“We need to move,” that was a whispered order from one of Francis’ guards, who nudged the two boys gently, “Reports of Roman soldiers heading this way.”

Well that really didn’t give them much of a choice.

Moving with the others, Antonio edged quietly and stealthily around the hill face, scouting out a safer location.

“Another hill” Francis pointed out, casting out his finger to one that seemed to be fairly deserted.

The group were part way there, when Francis suddenly let out a sharp yelp of alarm, shoving Antonio to the ground as out of nowhere Rome and Germania appeared out of the bushes, slamming into the men with them, swords slashing so chaotically, that two of Francis’ men were caught by the blow.

It didn’t look like the two of them were aware of anything else around them. But they paused, locked in their battle, as Francis and Antonio crouched behind a tree, far too close for comfort. If Germania waved that large sword of his too close to the ground, there was every chance they’d be hit, and considering his weakened state, Antonio knew that was particularly risky for him.

Although it was an odd time to realise it, only now did Antonio realise that he’d never actually seen Germania before. He’d heard so many stories about this giant of man that he’d just assumed somehow that he must have seen him somewhere, but the truth was, all he had to go on were stories.

The man was tall and powerful, far more so than any other Nation Antonio had ever met. However, Rome was faster and lighter, and was clearly trying to use that to his advantage as he dodged a blow dealt by Germania which cut neatly through one of the nearby trees instead.

“Merde!” Francis cursed through clenched teeth, wincing at the sword cut through the tree like it was nothing, and it was so easy to think they were going to be next.

Rome seemed to be moving far more desperately now, his eyes occasionally flicking over to the hillside where Antonio and Francis ha been heading, and whenever Germania advanced towards it, Rome would throw all his weight against him, forcing the other Nation back.

Beside him, Francis let out a small gasp of realisation, before seizing his lips shut again when Antonio turned to look at him.

“What?”

Francis shook his head firmly, lips still locked together fearfully.

“What?” Antonio pressed more firmly.

But it turned out Francis didn’t need to answer that question, as Rome suddenly kicked Germania back, his heavy form stumbling over the roots, buying the Roman Nation just enough time to call over his shoulder. “Feli get out of here!”

Antonio wasn’t aware that he’d moved, until he felt Francis’ arms wrap tightly around his waist, pulling him back to their hiding spot.

That was why Rome was so desperate to keep Germania away from that hill, it must be where Feliciano was. Gilbert had said Rome had brought a procession with him, Antonio just hadn’t imagined at the time that Feliciano would be included amongst that number.

“No!” Francis hissed at him, “He’ll kill you!”

But Antonio was now consciously fighting back. He hadn’t had a chance like this in… well since he’d lost the twins over a thousand years ago. If he passed up this chance now, then he may have to wait another thousand years for another.

Rome had been right that day he’d called Antonio a coward that was always running, it was true. But not today, he wasn’t going to let that fear and sense of self-preservation stop him now.

His two extra physical years on Francis, made him stronger than the other boy, and he had no difficulty forcing himself free of the shorter Nation’s grip.

Rome’s eyes were temporarily distracted from Germania, as they fell on Antonio, horror and fury overtaking the initial surprise.

He only just managed to side-step Germania’s next blow, before throwing the weight of his sword down on the spot where Antonio was standing.

Dodging around him, Antonio ran in the direction of the hill.

A large hand snapped around his arm, holding him back, if Antonio moved now, his arm would snap for sure, but he continued to pull, even when he felt the joints attaching his arm and shoulder together beginning to break.

Rome had hold of him with one hand and was desperately trying to fend off Germania’s attacks with the other.

He was distracted enough for Antonio to pull the knife from his belt with his free hand and plunge it deeply into the one holding him.

Rome let out a gasp of pain, his grip weakening, but not quite enough for Antonio to slip free.

“Grandpa!”

Antonio’s eyes swivelled in the direction of a small boy standing by the hillside, so close that in only a few strides the Spanish Nation would be able to reach out and touch him.

“Feliciano, I told you to run! You need to run!” The desperation in Rome’s voice was clear, and had Antonio been in a position to care, then he would have observed the fear and distress in the militaristic dictator’s voice.

“I can’t leave you… I can’t…” Feliciano drew a small knife from his own belt, as if he were going to join the fight with it.

“Feliciano I’ve been…” Antonio tried to speak, but he was prevented from doing so, as Rome slammed him forcibly into the ground.

“There’s a letter for you on my bed!” Rome snapped, “Feliciano, run!”

The young-looking Nation sniffed and nodded. Before Antonio had a chance to recover, Feliciano was already running.

“No!” He snarled out with a growl of frustration, seizing the knife from the back of Rome’s hand, as he plunged it once more into the Roman Nation, this time neatly burying it amongst his ribs.

“You impudent rat!” Rome slammed the butt of his sword against Antonio’s head, leaving the younger Nation dazed, as he turned back towards Germania, the blade coming faster and harder than it ever had done before.

Although his vision was blurred, Antonio felt the warm thick texture of blood dripping against his face, the metallic taste stinging his tongue as he gasped for air as a heavy weight straddled his chest.

Germania was dead, and Rome, bleeding heavily, his eyes bloodshot was pressing down on him from above, sword raised, just as it had been when Antonio had managed to escape from him the last time. Perhaps this was just as he was intended to die…

Just as Antonio closed his eyes, ready for the final blow, he felt the wind above him part as something sharp and sudden cut above him, plummeting deep into Rome’s already wounded torso, piercing the heart within.

The sword in Rome’s hands dropped, falling uselessly on the grass somewhere beside Germania’s still form.

“You…”

Opening his eyes and looking up, Antonio saw Francis. The boy was shaking, his hands still pristinely clean as he tugged at his golden hair in distress, breaths coming in short and helpless gasps. Blue eyes locked with Rome’s brown ones. He couldn’t believe what he’d done, the panic and terror was clear on his face, as he fell backwards away from the sword.

“I… I should have killed you when…” Rome coughed, spraying Antonio’s face with blood. The older Nation’s eyes then revolved down to Antonio, contorting with more emotions than Antonio was capable of reading.

A rough dry hand found the side of his face and tightened painfully against his hair. “You all think I’m a monster?” He laughed humorously, “I’ve already seen it. Europe will be painted in blood, and the two of you will be some of its finest artists.” He released Antonio’s hair, but the hand remained closely placed against his cheek.

Anger and fury gave way to panic and fear, until finally, the light in the Roman Nation’s eyes faded away, leaving him to collapse lifelessly onto the ground. The only reason Antonio wasn’t crushed under his weight, was due to the hilt of Francis’ blade that stopped Rome’s progression towards the earth just before he reached it, leaving Antonio just enough space to pull himself free.

He was covered in blood, despite being the only one there who had delivered no final blow.

Francis however, was perfectly clean, despite his paling face and sheer terror.

Unsure if he had the energy left to do much more, Antonio crawled towards his friend and hugged him tightly. While he knew Francis needed someone to hold onto, Antonio had to admit that was not his only motivation. He needed the other Nation to be just as soiled by all this as he was, he wanted that naïve civilised properness to be distorted by the bloody redness of battle. All these years he’d suffered, everything he’d lost, while Francis talked of new friends and fashions. This was a baptism of blood, a welcoming embrace to the violent and gruesome truth of life.


	26. Secrets

Gasping for breath, unable to run any further, Feliciano felt his legs give out beneath him. His mind was still throbbing from the shock, his ears deafened by the screams and cries of the battle behind him.

That boy… someone had run at him, they’d called his name. The panic in his grandfather’s eyes was burned like a canvas into his mind, whoever that boy had been, his grandfather had been terrified.

Part of him wanted to turn around and go back, check to make sure his grandfather was okay. But fear kept him rooted to the spot, curled in on himself, shaking violently as the small Nation rocked slowly back and forth in a subconscious attempt to sooth himself.

As small and skinny as he was, Feliciano avoided the keen-eyed sight of soldiers passing by, none of them casting more than a simple look over what looked to be nothing more than a stained white rag at the bottom of a ditch.

What would he do if his grandfather was really… He could hardly summon the word. But what would he do if Rome was no longer around to protect him? Surely, he’d be killed. His grandfather had always warned him that disgruntled Nations around them might do so in order to seek revenge. Feliciano had never dared to ask why his grandfather would have so many Nations around him looking for such a thing, he wasn’t sure even now that he wanted to know the answer to that.

“Feliciano?”

He froze at the sound of his name, the shaking stopping abruptly. The Italian Nation strained his ears towards the voice but remained perfectly still.

His name was well known to many, enemies included. His grandfather wouldn’t want him to run so foolishly into what could potentially be a trap.

“Master Feliciano?” Another voice joined the first, “Please, we need to take you back to Rome immediately.”

At the sound of his grandfather’s name, Feliciano’s heart for a moment rose, but then he considered the context. It wasn’t necessarily his grandfather they wanted to take him back to, but to Rome itself.

“What if he’s dead as well?”

A series of panicked hushing rang out, but it was too late. He’d heard.

Many people and Nations might wonder how they would react upon hearing conformation of the death of a loved one. It is likely that they’d come up with many different theories, and it is equally likely that the reality of every situation will be different to what was anticipated.

Feliciano rose very slowly to his feet. He felt the weight and numbness to each step as he pulled his way up and out of the ditch, presenting himself to the men who had been calling for him.

If they were enemy soldiers then they might as well kill him now, and if they were his own people… what did he have to lose?

“Oh, thank God!”

He was surrounded by soldiers, carrying the flag of Rome. They were few in number, and heavily injured, but somehow still alive.

“Master Feliciano we must take you to safety,” a strong hand clasped his shoulder protectively, “It is too dangerous for you out here.”

There was no energy in him to argue, and no need to ask after his grandfather. Even before the clumsy soldier had spoken, a part of Feliciano had already known. He’d felt his grandfather’s departure, and he’d felt the love that Rome expressed for him before his final moment. While he’d been grandfather in name, to Feliciano Rome had been more of a father to him.

He’d never known his biological father, and his grandfather had never spoken of him, him or his mother. He had no idea where it was he’d come from, or how it was that he had a brother. Feliciano had concluded a couple of hundred years ago that the boy he’d met in The Dream Fields must be his brother. It had been like looking in a mirror, and, considering he was a Nation in the lands surrounding Rome, they had to be related in some way.

As he’d promised, Feliciano had searched for Lovino. He’d made sure to do so in secret, but he hadn’t found anything. Soon after their meeting he lost touch with the field and that world as well, so there was no way to search for Lovino there and ask him.

Right now, more than anything, a brother was what Feliciano needed. Someone who would make him feel less alone. The hole he felt deep in his chest, was a hole that could only be filled by family, and until he had family again, he felt like he would be stuck in this state of numbed grief.

The Roman soldiers lifted him like he was a precious and delicate object they needed to secure the transportation of, and Feliciano allowed them to carry him. It would be a long march back to Rome, and on foot he would only slow them down.

It took just over fourteen days to march back to Rome. A healthy legion may have been able to do it in ten, but the group Feliciano was with could hardly be described as that.

They met up with a few other survivors on the road that joined the sorrowful march, and they returned to Rome in silence. Word however, must have gotten back ahead of them, because the whole city was pulsating with tears of panic and fear. Feliciano could feel it, twisting painfully in his gut. All their sorrow and terror, they were as afraid as he was, and afraid of the same thing. That, without his grandfather to protect them they would soon all be dead. They might be right.

Several of the soldiers insisted on taking Feliciano back to his grandfather’s manor, or rather, his manor. How else could it be described now?

With the exception of a few particularly dedicated servants, the house was abandoned. Many of the mosaics and jewels were missing, many must have fled the estate when they heard the news.

For those who remained, Feliciano felt a small spark of gratitude attempting to surface in his chest, but the weight of all the suffering kept it down, and so he simply passed the remaining servants without a word.

There was only one place he needed to be.

Opening the door to his grandfather’s room, Feliciano felt another small twitch, this one at the back of his head when he saw the state of the place.

This had been his grandfather’s haven, a place he could retreat to, surrounded by all the things that made him happy. It had been ransacked, just like the rest of the manor.

The painting he’d commissioned of Feliciano was gone, as were his trophies that had been secured along the walls and tables. A small box his grandfather had kept beside his bed had been broken open, whatever had been inside was gone. Feliciano was not accustomed to anger. However, being as old as he was, this was not the first time he’d experienced it, but it was certainly the most intensive that he’d ever felt it.

He knew who the servants were, he would be able to determine which of them had run away. Bending down to place the wooden box back on the table, Feliciano honestly considered the option of tracking them all down and making them truly sorry for this heresy.

But perhaps his basic aggression levels simply weren’t high enough, or perhaps the dark and vivid memories of that bloody battlefield simply made his stomach turn at the thought of more violence.

Instead, Feliciano focused on the box. It was an odd-looking creation, he’d never seen anything like it in Rome. It was simple, a basic item, but at the top a rather crude sun had been carved. The box was ancient, Feliciano didn’t doubt that. It had been with his grandfather for as long as he could remember. Whatever had been inside had undoubtedly been very precious to him, and how someone could have taken it… Feliciano couldn’t understand, he’d never be able to understand.

But, he had come here for a reason.

What if the thieves had made off with his letter as well? His grandfather had only said it was on his bed, not where specifically it might be.

The bed had been stripped of its sheets, and there was no sign of a sealed note of any kind.

Crouching down on the floor, Feliciano reached out his hand under the bed itself, feeling around for anything that might have been knocked to the ground.

“Thank you God” he felt himself whisper, as his hand closed around a rolled note of parchment, pulling it back out into the light, and he sung the Lord’s praises even further when he saw his name. This was the letter.

With trembling hands, he cracked open the seal and rolled out the parchment so that he could study its contents.

_Feliciano, my wonderful, and precious grandson,_

_If you are reading this, then I did not return with you from Germania’s kingdoms, and it is likely that I never will do. You must be strong because I am no longer there to protect you, I know that you will not let me down._

_However, before I leave this world I must convey to you my deepest regret. There are many things in this world that I have done, I am not proud of. I have hurt a great many people and Nations, and the truth of me is a tale I hope you will never have to hear. But, there is one act that has been plaguing on my conscious, to the point where I felt consumed by it. That is because this is the only wicked deed I committed against you, and I will never forgive myself for it._

_The truth is that during the year 64 AD, the same year as The Great Fire of Rome, I discovered that you were searching for someone. I had my agents look into this and found the boy you seemed to be so desperate to find behind my back. I had surmised before I met him that this child was a Nation, and I was surprised I had not been able to sense him as a hostile force, as it became apparent he’d been moving around in my lands for quite some time._

_But when I laid eyes on him I knew the truth instantaneously._

_You see, when I went to claim you as a baby, I found your mother, my daughter was already dead. Standing before her, keeping you from me was a human man, and another Nation. I saw you and knew that I needed to take you with me. You were more than just another Nation, you were my grandson. I did not know however, that the man and the other Nation had hidden a second child from me, your brother._

_This boy I found working in a small village just outside of Vernusia was your brother, and my second grandson. He knew who I was and was instantaneously suspicious, however, I managed to encourage him to talk to me. It turned out he was far better informed on his history than yourself. He knew that he had a twin brother taken at birth, and he was aware that he’d met you in The Dream Fields. However, conflicted over the idea of meeting you, he left the Region he’d told you he was in._

_I knew I had to make a decision, I could bring him back to you or I could prevent the two of you from meeting. He knew so much, and his opinion of me had been polluted by the years we’d been apart, and no doubt your human father. I admit I was afraid, I was scared that his influence would turn you against me._

_He was my grandson, so I could not kill him, but I did not love him in the same way I love you._

_As I write these next words my hand is shaking, because I am still afraid. There is nothing I feared in this world more than you knowing the truth of me, but in my action concerning your brother I have made things so much worse._

_I had him imprisoned in a fine, but heavily guarded prison on the coastal town of Ostia. I ensured he was cared for, educated and wanted for nothing, but I kept him away from you, and deprived him of his freedom._

_Feliciano, please free him. The two of you will need each other, I, and the evil that kept him from me, should never have tried to separate the two of you._

_Forgive me. My lands to the north of this city I leave to you, my beloved grandson. And, my lands to the south I give to your brother, Lovino, in the hope that one day he may learn to forgive me as well._

_Yours faithfully, Romeo Gilbavares, The Nation State of Rome._

That was where the letter ended. It was long, and yet it still felt like it didn’t contain enough words, as Feliciano read it over and over again. Why did these have to be the last words his grandfather had chosen to give him? Why couldn’t they have been something positive? Something to remind him what a great person his grandfather had been, and why he loved him so much.

Instead… there was this.

His grandfather had found the boy he was looking for and locked him away, just to protect Feliciano from his influence. How… how could he do something like that?

It wasn’t until the first tear hit the parchment that Feliciano realised he was crying, and he couldn’t even pinpoint the reason why. This was all just too much, it felt like he was losing his grandfather all over again.

What if he’d never died, would he have left Lovino locked away forever?

His fist closed around the parchment, as he wiped away the tears with the back of the opposite hand. He couldn’t cry now, he had to keep it together, just for a little bit longer.

Lovino needed him, his brother needed to be set free. And, most importantly Feliciano needed to see him, after all these years of separation, he was frantic. Now he understood the truth behind the matter, he only felt more frantic.

But what of Rome? Could he truly leave it now? Would they even let him leave?

As for how Rome would do without him… they’d just have to cope for now. It did seem unlikely though, that they would allow him to leave. He’d have to sneak away, Ostia wasn’t too far from Rome, a day’s walk perhaps, or significantly less if he could catch a carriage on its way out there.

Stuffing the letter into his pocket, the Italian Nation began tidying. If his plan was to leave tomorrow morning, then he could at least spend tonight returning some modesty and respect to his grandfather’s room.


	27. Brothers

He’d managed to catch a ride with a travelling caravan heading towards the coast. Or at least it seemed to be heading in that direction, wanting to avoid attention Feliciano hadn’t exactly asked… or made the driver aware of his presence, perched on the back of the bumpy caravan, but hopefully it would be able to take him most of the way.

It wouldn’t be long before the remaining servants on his grandfather’s estate noticed that he was missing, but Feliciano was content in his farewells. He carried a small satchel with him that held everything he felt he might need from this point onwards, as well as several items he hadn’t been able to leave for sentimental reasons: his grandfather’s final letter, an old toy he’d made for Francis, when the other Nation had still been a very young child.

He did not intend to go back. Rome had been his grandfather’s city, and while Feliciano loved it dearly, he also knew that his place was elsewhere now.

Tightening his hold on the precarious wooden beam where he was perched, the Northern Italian Nation flinched painfully as they went over a particularly offensive bump, biting his lip to prevent himself from yelping.

So far, the caravan still seemed to be on track, and it would not be long before they started meeting others on the road, he’d have to abandon his lift and find another path after that. He did not intend to present himself until he reached the prison his grandfather had described, hopefully it would be fairly obvious.

His grandfather had described this prison as comfortable, so it couldn’t be too unpleasant to look at. Unfortunately, that might also make it more difficult to spot.

Waiting until the road was smooth once more, Feliciano held out his hand carefully, examining his fingers. He’d been ten for rather a long time now, would Lovino also be the same age as him? They were supposed to be twins after all.

He’d learned so much these past two days, and even now Feliciano was in a state of deep shock, protecting him from the overwhelming emotion that would no doubt overtake him when it reached a breaking point.

He had been born to a human mother, or at the very least, a half-human mother, his grandfather’s daughter. But, she had died seemingly giving birth to him and his brother. Even if his grandfather had not come for him then he never would have known her.

When his grandfather had arrived to take him away, a human man and a Nation had tried to prevent him from doing so. Feliciano could at least hazard a guess that the human male had been his father, but the other Nation…

Closing his eyes tightly, Feliciano caught fragmented flashes of the tanned teenager calling his name on the battlefield, the one his grandfather had been so afraid of. Could that have been the Nation that had tried to keep him, and hidden his brother?

Feliciano could only hope that Lovino had more answers than he did.

The early signs of civilisation were beginning to show themselves in the form of wells and isolated hovels. They couldn’t be more than two miles from Ostia now, and Feliciano did not want to push his luck any further than he already had.

Preparing himself for the force as he hit the ground, Feliciano slid off the back of the carriage. The momentum carried him forward, causing his knees to buckle, grazing painfully against the ground, as he threw out his hands to prevent himself from doing any further injuries.

Cuts and bruises, but they would soon heal, it didn’t feel like anything was broken.

Picking himself back to his feet, Feliciano studied the road ahead. The driver of the caravan he’d hitched a ride on didn’t seem any the wiser that the weight distribution of his vehicle had changed.

A smaller path, branching off from the main road. Feliciano hurried towards it, checking to make sure it was an actual path before he dedicated any time to following it. Thankfully he discovered a rather old road marker, indicating that Ostia was only a three mile walk from here, and pointed him usefully in the right direction.

Hitching up his tunic, the boy stepped over a collection of brambles, then carried on his way. He was starting to realise how impractical these clothes were when you had to walk any sort of distance, they were constantly getting caught on things, and the previously beautiful embroidered hem was in tatters.

But, with tears in his tunic and blood on his knees and ankles, Feliciano eventually reached the edge of the town.

Despite his emotional numbness, a small spark of relief and celebration caused Feliciano to release a gasp of joy. Surely it would not take him long to find this prison, and at this point he’d even be willing to ask if he had to, he was so close now.

It might have been his imagination, but Feliciano was certain that he could feel another heartbeat coming from the direction of the town, it was calling to him, urging him onward. Lovino wanted to be found, whatever his previous reservations had been in regard to Feliciano finding him, he wanted to be free.

While Feliciano had been worried that he’d be recognised, the people here didn’t seem to pay him that much attention, perhaps it was due to the scruffy look of his clothes. Perhaps he just simply appeared to be a dirty street urchin they didn’t want to make eye contact with or look too closely at. That suited Feliciano just fine, as it gave him a great deal of freedom to search.

However, by the time evening fell, he’d found no sign of his brother, or indication as to where he might be being held. He’d have to ask someone.

Finding the nearest suitable place, Feliciano gravitated towards a busy looking tavern. His grandfather had never allowed him near these places, but he had heard they were the best places to pick up rumours and gossip, and that was exactly what he needed right now.

“Excuse me?” He touched the back of the nearest customer, but they didn’t even bother to turn, shoving him away. The next man he tried to ask, waved him off dismissively with the words: “I don’t have any money.”

Getting someone to speak to him was a lot harder than he’d imagined. But eventually, after practically climbing onto one of the tables, he managed to get the attention of a few of them.

“I’m looking for someone.” But the quiet nature of his voice was easily drowned out by the drunken roar of the tavern’s patrons.

“I’m looking for someone!” He tried again, a little louder this time, but once more his voice was drowned out.

“Little boy?”

He turned sharply, alarmed as soft hands placed themselves on his shoulders, turning him around, bringing him face-to-face with a young woman. By her dress, it looked like she worked here, she looked poor, but not unhealthily so.

“I’m looking for someone” Feliciano repeated one final time, knowing that this was the only chance he had left to find help here.

“Your parents?” Perhaps it was natural that should be the girl’s first enquiry, but Feliciano shook his head.

“Is there a place in this town like a prison? A nice prison, but one where someone might be being held?” He had no idea how else to phrase this question. If his brother was a prisoner it seemed unlikely that the people in the town would know him, but they might know of the place he was being held.

The girl frowned uncertainly, taking Feliciano’s hand to lead him away from the main crowd.

“Why are you looking for a place like that?” She asked, releasing him as soon as they found somewhere quiet.

“My brother is being held there” he told her, deciding it was best to be straight-forward with her, “I’ve come to get him.”

This must have sounded very unusual, because the girl’s look of concern only deepened, her brown eyes studying Feliciano’s face very carefully.

“There… there is a place like that on the edge of town” she finally confessed, “There are guards surrounding it all the time though.” She pointed towards a small hill towards the edge of the town in the distance, illuminated against the darkness by the lights shining from the windows of a building there. “The old villa. But, I doubt that is where your brother is being held, whoever is in there must be very important or dangerous.”

That was definitely where his brother was being held.

But, afraid the girl would try and stop him, he nodded. “You’re probably right, I’ll look somewhere else.” He’d always been a terrible liar, and he could see the girl knew he wasn’t being truthful with her, but her customers were demanding her attention.

“It really would not be wise to go there.” She tore herself away from him, her expression conflicted as she finally turned back to the customers, giving Feliciano his chance to flee before she changed her mind and turned back.

He knew where he was going now though, and hopefully this whole thing could be sorted out soon. The long journey had left him tired, and Feliciano was looking forward to a good long sleep knowing that Lovino was safe with him.

Navigating the streets wasn’t easy, but Feliciano’s small form made it possible to slip through the shadows and allies without being spotted, at least, he had almost made it the whole way when another boy suddenly stepped out from an alley in front of him, blocking off his route.

Startled, Feliciano fell backwards, landing on his rear on the dusty road.

This first boy wasn’t alone, as a whole gang of them seemed to seep out from the darkened recesses of the alley.

“So, who’s this then?” The tallest of the boys stepped forward, his question didn’t seem to be directed at Feliciano though. There was a decidedly unlikable look to him, that Feliciano flinched away from. He smelt, as did all of these boys, and there was a particularly ugly looking scar raking the side of the boy’s thin, sharp face.

“Looks like a little girl?” One scoffed, “Is that what you are?”

Another boy made to grab the front of his tunic, but Feliciano stepped back quickly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The fight or flight instinct was beginning to kick in, and Feliciano’s first instinct was always to run.

Dashing towards a small opening between the boys, his arms were seized on either side, and he was thrown back into the circle, as they closed ranks around him.

“M-My name is F-Feliciano,” his voice squeaked, utterly terrified of the situation he’d suddenly found himself in, “A-And I’m warning you to… to k-keep back.” He was shaking so much, that it was taking a great deal of effort to even stay on his feet.

With the death of his grandfather he felt a lot weaker, and while he didn’t doubt his ability survive an attack from simple human children, he wasn’t sure he could overpower them right now either.

The boy who had made a grab for him before, did so again, although this time he pulled at Feliciano’s satchel, tearing it open and causing the contents to spill out.

The boys pounced on the money he’d brought with him immediately, ignoring the toy, and only sparing the letter a short glance, it didn’t appear like any of them could actually read. However, the leader scooped it off the ground.

“Well boys, looks like we’ve got an educated little girl here, with a fancy looking letter to. Tell me,” he seized hold of Feliciano’s scruff, “Is it yours, or did you steal it?”

“What difference does it make?” Dismissed another boy, “It’s just a stupid letter.”

Feliciano watched as the boy who had hold of him sighed irritably and snapped back, “Because of he’s a rich little lady, then we can ransom him back!” With his free hand, he produced a rusty and jagged knife, holding it up to Feliciano’s neck, “Lie to me, and I’ll slit your throat.”

He could try.

The arrival of a knife had rather the opposite effect on Feliciano than was probably intended. Scary older boys appearing from the dark were frightening, knives, he had no reason to be frightened of them at all.

“Let me go, and give me back my things,” Feliciano swung his legs forwards, kicking the boy holding him sharply in the chest.

It was an unexpected attack, as the boy stumbled back, releasing Feliciano who managed to land, slightly off balance, back on his feet.

He didn’t particularly care about the money, if they were that desperate they could have it, but he wanted the rest of his things back, and he held out a hand to demand them.

“You bastard!” Feliciano did not turn, unconcerned as the leader lunged towards him, knife blade aiming for the small of his back. It cut through the back of his tunic, carving out a small hole, but the moment it touched his skin, the already weak metal shattered.

Crying out in alarm the boys immediately behind him fell back, sheltering their eyes from the deep and sharp shards of knife, while their leader screamed in pain, having caught the full brunt.

“Give me back my things,” Feliciano kept his hand extended, “Do so and I’ll let you all go. I’ll let you keep the money as well.”

There was confusion, and with their leader incapable of giving demands the boys hesitated, a few even began to hand back the blankets and various other items in their hands. But enough of the older ones held them back, flexing in Feliciano’s direction.

It was not Feliciano’s intention to harm any of them, but if that was what they insisted on, then he could do very little about it.

Stepping towards the nearest boy who had been holding out one of the blankets to him, Feliciano closed his fingers around it, sensing that the child, who couldn’t have been any older than he looked, would not prevent him from claiming it.

One of the taller boys beside him however, swung back his fist, the clear intention being to punch him. Feliciano braced. For some reason physical human contact was far more effective than damage they tried to inflict with tools, and in his weakened state he would need to hold himself steady to withstand the force.

The result was good enough however.

The boy drew his hand back, yelling in surprise and pain. Feliciano had felt the force, but not the pain. If he’d been stronger he was sure the contact would have broken the boy’s fingers for sure, but as it was he just looked a little bruised.

“Let’s get out of here!” One of them cried, as many of them dropped the items in their arms to the floor and scarpered. The others, realising their numbers had been dwindled soon followed.

Despite the fear they’d brought him, Feliciano couldn’t help but think to himself that they must have been desperate, as he picked up his remaining belongings, bundling them up in one of the blankets. Street kids, probably half starved and desperate, but that still didn’t justify threatening people, particularly other children, hopefully they’d learned their lesson.

Readjusting himself, Feliciano carried on. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

The route to the villa from here was fairly straight forward, and soon he spotted the guarded gates, standing erect and imposing in the light of the half-moon.

The guards tensed as soon as they spotted him, readying their weapons.

“Get out of here kid!”

Feliciano pressed forwards. “My name is Feliciano, I am the Nation state of the northern Italian kingdoms,” he stopped just short of the guards and their spears. “I have come to collect my brother; my grandfather has given me leave to do this.”

Surely, they wouldn’t challenge him, Feliciano didn’t really have the energy to deal with another fight.

“Do you… do you have any proof of this?”

Bending down to examine his make-shift satchel, Feliciano began searching for the letter… the letter… the one that tall boy had been holding… If he’d have known any curse words, he would have spat them out in this moment. He didn’t have it any more. Torn between distress at losing his grandfather’s final words, and frustration that this had suddenly become a lot more difficult, Feliciano looked back up at the soldiers.

“I’ve lost the letter, but I can prove I’m a Nation,” he touched his finger to the tip of the nearest spear, applying a very light amount of pressure, not enough to shatter the weapon, before pulling back to show them his unbroken skin.

“We… we were given orders not to allow anyone but Rome to enter these walls.”

“My grandfather’s dead!” Those words came out much more sharply than Feliciano had intended, in fact he hadn’t even intended to say those words at all. The floodgate that had previously been holding back his fear, distress, fury and loss, were reaching their bursting point.

The guards stepped back hesitantly.

“So, the rumours are true?”

“Let me by.” Feliciano was done talking, he’d been separated from his brother for over a thousand years, he was not going to wait one more minute. Feeling a rejuvenated burst of strength, he pushed forward, shoving the spears that followed him away.

More guards ran forward, but a warning yell from the ones by the gate stopped them before they reached the small boy who had just entered the open gardens that led up to the front entranceway.

“Lovino!?”

Where was he?

“Lovino!?”

Ignoring the humans, Feliciano hurried to the nearest door, peering into the candle lit room inside. They couldn’t have moved him. He had to be here somewhere.

He was breaking, tears were already streaming hot and fast down his face, and after one more broken call of his brother’s name, he collapsed to his knees, body shaking violently as he used his arms to encase his slight and small body. He couldn’t do this anymore, he was just going to curl up and die here.

“Feliciano!”

Teary amber eyes glanced up, taking in the form of a new figure hurrying towards him from one of the villa’s rooms.

Another boy, one that looked so similar to Feliciano there could be no question of who he was. Seizing the hem of the other boy’s robes, he sobbed mercilessly into them, hiccupping and choking, tightening his grip until the other boy had no other choice but to join him on the ground.

“Shit… look, don’t cry, I’m here now,” hands hesitated somewhere around Feliciano’s shoulders, as if he were unsure whether or not to make contact as the sobbing boy held him tighter. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer… I just…” But Feliciano didn’t hear the excuse, he didn’t need to, Lovino was here now, and that was all that mattered.


	28. Damp and Wet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is late and not particularly long. I do promise that I will finish this story, it may just take me longer than I originally planned.

**485 – First King of the Franks**

Well something had to fill the void left by the Romans, and while France couldn’t say he was pleased about this self-imposed Germanic rule, the settlers did at least seem to be independent of Prussia and his brother, who seemed to be just as lost in the wilderness right now as the rest of them were.

It had been nine years since Rome and Germania had died, and they had been nine years of confusion and disarray. The people of Germania’s kingdoms panicked and spread out across Europe looking for somewhere they could feel secure again.

Prussia and his younger brother seemed to have disappeared entirely, France hadn’t seen either of them since they’d spoken on the battlefield. Despite everything that was currently happening, he hoped they were okay, the loss of their father must have weakened them.

That concern also brought him to Feliciano as well, another Nation he hadn’t seen since the battle who seemed to have vanished into thin air. The little Italian Nation had always been so reliant on his grandfather, was it even possible for him to survive alone?

The sickening weight of guilt tightened around his stomach and chest, pressuring his heart into a pained submission. It was true he hadn’t liked Rome’s influence, and it was true he felt that the old Nation had overstepped his bounds, but he hadn’t wanted this.

The memory of Rome’s dying eyes had been burned into his memory, and even now France could still feel the hilt of that sword in his hand and feel the panic that had possessed him when he’d seen the Roman Nation poised over his friend, ready to strike.

He didn’t regret saving Spain, but he was certain that if he’d only thought faster then he could have found another way. Perhaps his mistake had been even taking Spain to that fight. He’d underestimated the desperation of the other Nation when it came to Feliciano, he’d never really taken Spain’s intensive questions and chatter as something potentially dangerous.

Spain was however, the only Nation he had seen since then. They didn’t speak as often as they had done, and when they did there was a tension in the air that neither one of them dared to address. The truth was that France resented and blamed him for what had happened, even if a part of him knew that wasn’t fair; and he knew that Spain could sense it.

Flicking a lone pebble on the beach, France sighed. Immortality gave you eternal life, but everything else was fleeting; friendships, family, purpose. All that seemed to withstand the centuries was malice and bitterness. So many Nations had hated Rome since the day they had taken their first steps, and they had maintained that hatred through the long and tireless years. But now, with Rome dead they had nowhere else to point that contempt than at each other.

How long had he been alive for now? Four-hundred? Five-hundred years? Something like that at least, and considering he was still one of the younger Nations around that really spoke volumes for just how long they’d all been at this. Wouldn’t this all eventually stop? Surely it couldn’t go on forever.

“Monsieur France, are you coming?”

Flicking his eyes up to the horizon, the blonde slowly straightened up and stretched. Right, it was time to go.

After several months of deliberating he’d decided he was finally going to do it. He was going to cross the ocean himself. His ability to visit The Dream Field had gone after he’d killed Rome, which meant he’d lost access to the small scrappy Nation he’d spent the last couple of hundred years chatting with and teasing.

He wouldn’t have described the two of them as great friends, but there had been a kinship between them as they’d found themselves to be mostly alone for quite some time. But, most importantly, England was one of the few Nations that still felt set apart from all this. Sure, he’d been invaded by Rome, but he’d never shown his face on the mainland, and he’d kept away from all the political and militaristic struggles between borders.

France needed to remind himself of what that was like, and Britania seemed like the best place to do that.

He had been given permission by one of the merchant boats to travel with them. It would be a very rough crossing, but France knew he had nothing to be afraid of. Worst case scenario a wave split the ship and he had to swim back to shore, he couldn’t drown or even freeze to death. It would be unpleasant of course, but nothing more than he could handle.

The merchants had been loading their cargo onboard, but it seemed like they were done now, and France did not want to be left behind. So, seizing one side of the boat he helped to push it into the water, jumping in with the rest of the men as they set off for the Britannic coast.

“You know it’s odd,” one of the merchants shrugged, as they directed the ship as best, they could away from the coastline, “That we are now ruled by Franks, it’s almost like we were meant to be ruled by them?”

One of the others stiffened and glared at him, “What in the name of God makes you think that?”

The first merchant seemed unabashed despite his response, “Because his name his France” he nodded towards the young-looking Nation on their boat, “France, Franks. Rome wasn’t the one who gave him that name after all.”

That… That had never occurred to France before.

After all, not all Nations had the same names as their countries. Feliciano’s name simply described a wider space of land, and according to Antonio, his country hadn’t taken on his name until almost seven-hundred years after he’d been born.

How had he decided his name was France?

Straining to think back, France tried to pull up the first moment he’d taken up that name, but it was as if no memory existed. Was this like the Dream Fields, were their just some things they weren’t supposed to understand?

Antonio had told him Feliciano and his brother had been born to a human woman, but was that true for all of them? Was there even anybody alive today who could answer that question?

Focusing his attention once more on the direction they were heading in, he considered England. That was another Nation who had a name that didn’t match their country, or did he?

The Angles and Saxons had ravaging their way through Britannia almost the moment Rome and Germania had died, it was chaos up there from what France had heard, but hopefully these traders would know the safe places to land.

Angle… Land? No, that just sounded stupid, and yet it was similar to the jump made between France and the Franks.

With Rome and Germania gone was Europe simply becoming the place it was always supposed to be?

He slept most of the journey, none of the merchants tried to make him do any of the work. It took all day in their heavy-set ferry, with every man aboard, and every young Apprentice heaving their muscle against the ocean waves as they rowed onward towards the distant coast of the island of Britannia.

As France’s eyes began to drift open, there was one thought that struck him rather heavily. It was wet. There was no other way to describe the scene slowly unfolding around him as the beach along the coast came closer and closer into view. The sky was a damp grey, the sand a miserable dark brown, and the spittle of water he’d initially mistaken for the sea turned out to be rain, which grew stronger and harder the closer to the Britannic shore they came.

“Classic Britannic weather” he heard one of the men laugh, to the echoed chorus of the others.

“It always rains here?”

The group all turned towards him looking surprised, perhaps they’d believed him to still be asleep.

“Well not all the time” the first man who had spoken shrugged, “but enough of the time.” He grinned, “Don’t worry we’ll get you home again soon enough, just don’t wander too far. The last thing we all need at a time like this is our Nation going missing.”

They didn’t have to worry on that, Francis fully intended to return. He just needed to see this place for himself first. He reassured the men in the boat that he’d be back long before they returned from the market town they were heading for. But this only seemed to alarm them further.

“You aren’t coming with us?”

The young boy shook his blonde head. He often found it was far better that your first impression of a country be of its land, rather than its settlements. Villages, towns, cities, they all changed so much over a seemingly short period of time, the land itself however, always remained familiar.

Yes, this cold and damp country, this was the land that belonged to England, it suited him.

Stepping off the boat, France promised once more that he would return before they set up cmp, and then, before anyone could stop him, he hurried along the beach and up onto the bracken beyond, feeling a rather short-lived rush as he laid his eyes out across the land for the very first time. That moment passed within moments as his foot sunk immediately into a heavy, thick patch of bog.

“Merde!” He swore loudly, taking hold of his leg firmly between both hands and pulling it clear. He took another step forward, only for the same to happen again. This was disgusting, why would anyone want to live in such a dirty and unpleasant place.

Scanning around, France spotted a relatively dry bundle of grass nearby and heaved himself towards it, straining with every step. He had almost reached the thick patch of grass, when a sudden yelp caught him by surprise, causing the French Nation to tumble backwards, feet catching in the mud as he fell with a painful splat in the mud behind him, ankles snapping painfully. He’d broken them, great.

“Show yourself!” Despite his position, France clambered up as best he could, ignoring the protest from his broken bones – they’d heal in a moment. Great, now he was filthy! What would his people say when he went back to the boat now? There was no way he could wash himself and his clothes in the sea without catching something before they got back.

The grass in front of him rustled again, and a single bright green eye peered out from between the blades.

There was a short silence, then the small figure lunged forward with a stick.

For one confusing moment, Francis thought they were going to hit him, but the stick stopped just short of his face, and a sharp childish voice commanded, “Hold onto it!”

Doing as instructed, Francis blinked, wondering what was about to happen next.

Then, with an inhuman amount of strength the small figure pulled on his end, guiding France out of the bog and over to the island. He wasn’t quite strong enough to do the whole job by himself, as France felt himself having to exert his own muscles once more, but finally he was out and panting on the (relatively) dry land once more.

“Thank you” he gasped, still straining to catch his breath as he waited for his ankles to reset themselves.

“What are you doing here?” That voice again, and as France looked up, he realised he’d been an idiot not to recognise it.

“England!” Jumping back to his feet with ecstatic excitement, France lifted the small Nation up into his arms and spun him around joyfully, almost sending the both of them back into the mud.

“Put me down!” The boy snapped, his appearance still very much that of a five-year-old boy. “I asked you a question!”

“Sure, sure.” Setting the boy down, a wild smile still plastered across his face, the French Nation beamed. “Thought I’d actually come and take a look at this place, I’ve never been so…” he ruffled England’s hair, still utterly delighted that he was finally meeting the northern Nation in person. “I just came over for a quick visit.”

England frowned suspiciously, running a hand through his wild and tangled hair. He looked a mess, just like he always did. From past experience France knew it was pointless to try and comb his hair, the first and last time he’d tried the tiny Britannic Nation had bitten him.

“This isn’t a good time to visit” he growled, the sound was primitive, but not hostile. “It’s dangerous here at the moment.”

“Dangerous?”

“Saxons” England hissed, “Don’t you know anything stupid!”

Well of course he knew about the Saxons. Folding his arms stubbornly, the taller blonde frowned. “There’s no need to be rude. What about them?”

England’s eyes widened, looking dumbfounded at what France had just said. Then he shook his head, “It’s none of your business anyway, just get out of here you bastard!”

What in God’s name was wrong with him? Wasn’t he pleased that France had come all this way to visit him? The ungrateful little rat.

England was pushing at his back, almost shoving the older Nation right back into the mud, but France dug in his heals. He wasn’t going anywhere until this whole thing was explained to him.

“I told you to get out of here!” England snapped, now throwing his whole weight against the small of France’s back. “It isn’t safe. They’re not on this coastline yet, but it’s only a matter of days, could even be hours!”

“Hours? We are learning fancy words.” France couldn’t resist teasing him, but it only earned him another sharp shove, and this one almost overbalanced him completely.

“Faigh a-mach an seo mus tilg mi a-mach thu!” The boy looked furious now, dropping the Latin, as he reverted to his own language. France didn’t need to understand to know he was probably being insulted and told to leave again.

“Fine!” He snapped, moving off to the side with a suddenness that sent England falling into the mud. “If you want to be like that after I came all this way, then fine!”

A small part of his mind tried to reason with him. England genuinely seemed to be worried about these Saxons, perhaps they were really that dangerous. But the emotional part was screaming over any other thought he had and consumed any reason he might have been able to spare.

In response to that England only clicked his teeth, narrowing his eyes as if he thought France was being ridiculous.

What right did any Nation as tiny as that have to regard him in that way!?

He was France, one of the most powerful remaining Nations in Europe… well, Western Europe at least, and who was England? Some little backward country to the north.

“Your country is horrible anyway!” He snapped, “Like I wanted to spend another minute knee deep in sludge.”

He could feel the hostile glare from England burning into his neck, but France was not going to do him the satisfaction of turning around, England had asked him to leave, so that was what he was going to do.

France made it a dozen steps before he finally felt the temptation to turn. When he did however, England was gone.


End file.
